Pandæmonium
by F12Scuderia
Summary: "Have you seen her? She is a passionate soul, an eye of the storm, the brightest star in the night skies. Have I ever thought of her? I swore each night to let her go, but then love her even more by dawn. I love her with all my wayward heart—until the Grim Reaper and the Angel of Death came for her." (CHROLLO/OC: slow burn)(guaranteed Spider shenanigans)
1. Chapter I

**Chapter I**

* * *

 _A Kurta shall never aspire to live in the outside world._

Valaerys rolls her eyes as she fingers a pendant between her fingers. Sure, her grandfather must be an old fart for imposing such a strict rule upon the villagers, but she could care less. There are some others in the village who believe that a new world is upon them, that the world is changing, and that there is nothing wrong about change. Try as she might, her grandfather remains as stubborn as she is. If the Elder would not relent, then she would not either.

She gives one last glare at the pendant−a golden salamander with blood-red eyes. She throws it down the hill, watching it roll across green grass and disappear between clumps of trees. The wind up here is nice and soothing, carrying the fresh scent of flowers that marks the nearing end of autumn. As the breeze picks up, so does her hair−a shade of platinum blonde that is the despair of her father for having inherited from her mother. Valaerys does not care; she tucks the lock behind her right ear and heaves a deep sigh.

Eyes roaming to her left, she could see the long river that winds around their province like a blue-green ribbon, shimmering under the sunlight. On her right is the nearest village in the outside world. She could see the white clock tower amidst the sea of evergreen trees. Sometimes, if she can sneak out at night, she can hear it tolling with all its might.

But she can only ever sit here on the hill and watch. Sometimes listen. Most often, she dreams. She closes her eyes and dreams herself walking through streets and passing by shops. Her grandfather would not tell her much, so she resorts to begging the deliverymen every time they return home from buying supplies for the clan. They have not much to tell her, though; she frowns and believes old men have no imagination after all. No eyes on the future, just old memories and sadness.

The peaceful quietness lulls her to sleep. Abandoning the beautiful scenery before her, she closes her eyes and leans against the trunk of an ancient tree. Even with her eyes closed like this, she could see the outside world and its magnificence.

Not thirty minutes later, she hears footsteps scrambling on the grass, going towards her, scrambling up and up the hill. The footsteps stop beside her.

"Valaerys."

"Chikuta-san." She nods, eyes still closed, her almost half-asleep. "What brings you here?"

"The deliverymen have come back from the outside world."

A sudden tug in her heart, yet she keeps her face still, cold−as if she does not care at all. "And so?"

The middle-aged Kurta scratches the back of his head. "And the Elder is really beside himself this time. He says he wants to see you immediately."

At those words, her eyes fling open, golden eyes wide as saucers as she realizes what she has done. Or rather, what she has _not_ done.

She gasps and jumps to her feet, runs past Chikuta with a grateful wave of her hand, and rushes back to the village. She passes the same old forest road she always takes to the hill. From afar, the first house reaches her sight. Then another house, and another, until she reaches the village proper and bumps into other young women around her age, doing their chores as she should.

Finally, she reaches her house, slams the door open, and comes face-to-face with her grandfather. He frowns at once.

"Late again as always, Valaerys," the old man says by way of greeting. Mountains of sacks, boxes, and crates dominate the entire living room. He waddles towards the shortest stock and glares at her over his shoulder. "You know, when I die, you should cremate me and put my ashes inside an hourglass. That way, I can still tell how you're always late even when I am dead!"

"Good afternoon to you as well, Grandpa." She laughs when the old man's face contorts into one of anger. She joins him arranging the new supplies. "What did I miss?"

"Only your duties," the Elder spits back, still very annoyed. "How could you be so irresponsible? At seventeen, you should be more mature, organized… How could I ever marry you off to a suitable gentleman?!"

She blows at the bangs falling across her eyes. "If I ever want to marry, I want someone of my own choice, not yours−since you really have no good sense at all…"

The Elder flusters red in the cheeks, getting more annoyed now.

"And I don't want someone from the clan," Valaerys finishes, her arms full of groceries to be given away for the other families. She turns her heels to face the old man, only to find him scowling at her. Her shoulders shrug. She doesn't share her grandfather's ideals in anything. "Did they get chocolates this time?"

"Chocolates are a luxury we cannot afford!"

"Mother used to bring me some−"

"It's not the same!"

She curses under her breath. "Going back, I already know every single bachelor in the village, but believe me: no one is half as interesting as someone from the outside world."

"That's rubbish," the Elder mutters under his breath. "You are a Kurta, first and foremost. You will carry on the legacy as much as everyone in this village does, Valaerys. Your heart must be with us−your family. You will not do anything by halves!"

She opens the door, the groceries still in her arms. "I don't intend to," she whispers and leaves.

Outside, the sun starts to set. It paints the entire forest in an array of red-and-orange. The families light up their houses, one-by-one, until the lights dominate the place. Valaerys walks past most of the villagers and nods affectionately to them. Her grandfather is right: this is her family. She is related to every family one way or another. The Kurta Clan sticks together, always turning out for support.

Her feet take her to the farthest house, almost by the edge of the river. She knows well enough why no one has bothered to take the supplies from her grandfather's house. She sees the light in the window, smiles to herself, and then knocks on the front door.

A young blond-haired boy answers it. His grey eyes light up. "Val!"

She smiles back. "Kurapika," she returns, and notices the other boy seated on the couch. "Hello, Pairo."

Pairo bobs his head in an enthusiastic nod. "You came at the right time, Val! Kurapika and I were just doing something before you−"

"Sshh!" Kurapika hurriedly presses an index finger against his lips and pulls Valaerys into the house. He shuts the door behind them, and drags her towards the couch with Pairo. "Be quiet! You'll let everyone know, Pairo!"

"Oh." The brown-haired boy sticks his tongue out as an apology. "Sorry about that."

"Really, we have to be careful you know," Kurapika scolds his friend.

"Be careful about what?" Valaerys raises her eyebrow at the two young boys. She sets the groceries she brought for Kurapika's family and glares at them both, like a hard-hearted teacher. "You two have been acting very strange lately, did you know that?"

While Pairo only grins, Kurapika fiddles with his fingers nervously.

Her voice hardens. "Is there something I need to know?"

Pairo, always the more mischievous between them, grins wider and nudges his friend with his shoulder. Kurapika, blushing like a student caught red-handed, looks at the woman, then to Pairo, then back to Valaerys again. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come. Instead, he pulls out a large, hardbound book from underneath the couch.

The book falls on the dining table with a loud thud. Valaerys glances at it. "Where did you get this?"

"We found it," twelve-year old Kurapika replies.

"Where did you find it?"

"Out in the forest."

"Oh, really?"

He bows his head, fiddles with his fingers. He's lying, she could tell that much. "Yeah. We were out in the forest and found it," Kurapika answers, stubborn as always.

This could go on all night. She changes her tune and flips the book open. The letters are foreign but they are not strange to her. She stares at the golden letterings embossed on the title page. "You can read this?"

Pairo answers this time. "Only with a dictionary."

Nodding, she reads the first paragraph, then the second. With each passing word, foreign as they are, she feels the same familiar tug in her heart. She's reading something from the outside world! For the first time, something authentic from a world she has only ever dreamed of. Kurapika and Pairo observe her read, no doubt excited as she is.

She keeps her fingers off the book, willing herself control. "This seems like a good read. Now, I will ask again, and I want the truth this time. Where did you get this book?"

Kurapika breathes deeply and mumbles, "An outsider got lost and gave it to us. She's gone now. She's been gone for weeks."

"And you've been reading since then?"

"Yes."

She notices the bookmark sticking out between the pages. Barely ten pages. Her fingers drum on the tabletop, with her calming herself. "You do not seem to be having good progress. Are you having difficulties with the words? The translations?"

Kurapika scoffs. "We can manage without you."

Pairo clutches the other boy's blue sleeves. "Kurapika! Don't say that! She's the Elder's granddaughter! If she wants, she can tell him our secret, then we can never read this again! Besides−" His voice falters as his brown sightless eyes lower to the floor−"Since she's the Elder's granddaughter, she can read the common language better than us…"

Suddenly, Kurapika's grey eyes sparkle with newfound determination. He embraces Pairo and pats him on the back. He then turns to the young woman and curls his fists. "You can teach us!"

Valaerys blinks at him.

"You can teach us how to read and understand the common language!" Kurapika chirps, the excitement written all over his face. "The Elder taught you some things, right? You can teach us, too! It'd be easier to have someone help us than struggling with a dictionary!"

"Kurapika's right!" Pairo smiles warmly at her. "If there's anyone who can help, it's you, Val!"

"Hm. I am not sure. Let me think." She puts her fingers under her chin and acts as if she is trying to decide. It is fun to put a show for them, seeing their avid, hopeful faces. She melts at the sight. "Maybe I will."

"You will?!" Kurapika echoes, almost jumping from excitement.

"Of course." She rumples his blond hair and cups Pairo's cheek. "Anything to help the two of you learn."

As she thinks to herself so many times, the elders have no eyes for the future. They are weak, they are sad, and they are content with their positions in life. Content in their simple way of living−hiding in the forest, fearing outsiders, fearing change. But not Valaerys; certainly not her. And not Kurapika and Pairo either: they are as filled with hopes and dreams as she is; they share her hunger for a new world.

If teaching them everything she knows about the outside world means disobeying everything her grandfather asked her, then she will.

* * *

On the day of Kurapika's test, Valaerys and Pairo turn out for support.

Most of the villagers gather outside the Elder's house. Some are there to watch, others are only there for sheer curiosity. Everyone has one question in mind: will Kurapika pass the test? No one knows for sure, since almost everyone knows that going out there is such a dangerous risk. Valaerys and Pairo think otherwise. They know Kurapika will pass. Kurapika's parents stand alongside their son's friends as the twelve-year old enters the Elder's house with a determined gleam in his eyes.

Valaerys, curious at best, follows inside the house. Her father is the examiner−an expert on languages− and he shoots her a dark, accusing look as Kurapika settles down on his chair. She winks back at him, only to incense her father more.

"You poisoned his mind." Her grandfather stands short beside her, watching from the sidelines. "You used everything your father and I taught you, and poisoned the boy."

"I did no such thing." She never leaves her sight off Kurapika−her only hope, and perhaps, her only savior.

"How many times did I have to tell you? Rules are rules. The rules are here to keep us hidden, safe. There is no better way to preserve our way of living than to follow the rules. To keep to ourselves."

Her father interrupts to announce that the language exam has finished. Much to his disappointment−but to Valaerys's swelling pride−Kurapika passes the exam with 100 points. Kurapika looks over his chair and waves at her. She smiles back and gives him a thumbs-up sign.

The next exam is the general knowledge exam. Her grandfather returns to her side.

"I thought about the conversation we had two weeks ago," the Elder begins. "At almost eighteen, you should be mature and prepared for life. I can see how much I have failed in this." He bows his head slightly, as if distressed. "So, your father and I came to a decision. You remember Chikuta-san's youngest son?"

"Tokuga-kun?" She frowns at the effort of remembering. "Yeah, he's cute. So?"

"So, I had thought of marrying you to him."

A sudden change in her demeanor. In the briefest of seconds, her golden eyes darken and threaten to change to the brilliant shade of scarlet their clan is infamous for. Her lips purse as she grates her teeth together, bone on bone, to keep herself from falling over. Her grandfather keeps talking, but she could not hear the words. Her sight slowly turns red and she forces herself out of the house, leaving Kurapika alone.

With an effort, Valaerys trudges towards the river behind Kurapika's house. She sits on the riverbank and dips her right hand into the cold waters. She wants to hate her grandfather for everything he puts her through, and whatever else he has in store for her. If only her mother is alive, perhaps…

She peers at her reflection on the water. Her eyes are not scarlet. Good. No one has to know what she feels. What she wants them to know is her _wants_. She wants to go to the outside world, with Kurapika and Pairo. If she can't achieve the former, then maybe…

"Val?" Pairo's voice comes from behind.

"Pairo. Is everything all right?"

"Oh, yes!" The smile he gives her is bright and joyous. "Kurapika passed the second test!"

And so they go together, hand-in-hand, back to her grandfather's house. They arrive just in time to see the usual deliverymen preparing the birds for the trip. Kurapika embraces his parents as they say their goodbyes. The Elder looks grieved, but says nothing to stop the celebrations.

When Kurapika notices Pairo and Valaerys, he squeals with triumph and embraces them as well. First, Pairo, around the shoulders; then Valaerys, embracing her around the hips. His eyes are brighter than ever.

The third test is harder, and it requires for Kurapika to choose a companion for the daytrip outside the village. Of course, as predictable as the weather here in Lukso Province, he chooses Pairo over the three experienced deliverymen.

Valaerys smiles throughout the whole exchange and waves goodbye at them. As they exit the forest together, she follows to her usual spot on the hill. She might not see them, but at least she could see the village from here. It warms her by knowing that Kurapika and Pairo would be able to see the clock tower up close, while she could only see it from afar.

She wishes them good luck. She sits under the ancient tree and lets the breeze pick up her hair.

In thirty minutes, she falls asleep.

* * *

Come morning, every Kurta comes running out their homes to await for Kurapika and Pairo's arrival.

Valaerys has never thought there are this many Kurta. It seemed only yesterday when others were doubting Kurapika's determination−the determination she seems to lack.

Yet now, everyone gathers with bated breaths to see if they come home safe and sound, with the supplies for the village, and with their Scarlet Eyes not active.

It is not so easy: suppressing your emotions. Especially for a Kurta. When your life depends on your ability to shut off your emotions, it is truly difficult. For someone as hotheaded as Kurapika, or as stubborn as Valaerys, the difficulty increases a hundredfold. Not to Pairo, however: he is always the kind and gentle one, always so soft-spoken, always caring. Valaerys could not remember a time she last saw Pairo's Scarlet Eyes activated.

Here they come.

Framed against the dawning horizon, Kurapika and Pairo make their way back to the village. Judging from their smiling faces, they have succeeded their task. Kurapika has passed the third and final test, and no one could be prouder than his family and friends.

Everything else passes like a blur.

Three days later, Kurapika is once again up and ready to leave the village. This time, it is an unrestricted permission to wander the outside world.

"Be careful!" Kurapika's mother reminds him as he climbs the giant bird. "Haste makes waste, okay?"

"Yeah. I know." The blonde boy smiles down on his parents as Valaerys leads Pairo forward.

Kurapika slides down his transport and jumps to embrace Valaerys. He buries his head into her clothes, his arms tight around her waist and hips. He feels her hands pat his head and back.

"Thank you," is all he whispers, pressing his face on the orange cloth of her robes.

"Take good care of yourself out there," she says against his soft hair.

Kneeling down to meet his eye level, her fingers comb through blond locks and then cup his cheeks. She will miss him, even if she doesn't have to say it. Everyone knows; Kurapika knows, too. Instead of words, she keeps staring at his face, committing them to memory.

"Are you learning me by heart, Val?" Kurapika asks.

"No." She shakes her head, tears brimming. She embraces him tightly, her face against the crook of his neck. Kurapika kisses her reassuringly on the forehead. "I know you by heart. You are inside my heart."

He closes his eyes, as if to remember her voice. "You are inside my heart, too."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Hello, everyone! This will be my first H×H fanfic, even though I've been a year for literally half of my _entire_ life. I've watched the original 1999 series, followed the manga, and fangirled once more when the 2011 version was released. The only surprising thing for me now is the fact that I've waited this long to write a story for the manga that has been with me since childhood.

Now, on to this story! This is a Chrollo/OC fic, with tons of Phantom Troupe appearances, brawls, insults, and basically shenanigans. A slow burn type of romance for our lady and our esteemed Danchou. Guest appearances from other characters are also guaranteed! This will be a long fic, and I hope I could update weekly as I've done with my other stories. Also, I started this story after the March hiatus and planned to update once the manga is back. Surprise, surprise! Togashi came back sooner than expected, so here's a new story indeed!

I think that's all for now. Any comments, suggestions, reviews, or requests will be appreciated! Thank you very much for taking time to read!

P.S. Writing wittle Kurapika and wittler Pairo made my day!


	2. Chapter II

**Chapter II**

* * *

 _Six weeks later_

It is almost hard to imagine that Kurapika has been gone for six weeks.

In the past twelve years of her life, Valaerys has known the little boy−from his cradle, to his first attempt at riding a pony, his first haircut, the first time his Scarlet Eyes activated. It seems all her life has revolved around watching over him, and Pairo, as she yearns to have brothers of her own. But that could never be.

If only her mother had lived, perhaps she could have brothers by now. Younger brothers to look after, to care for. Instead, she has Kurapika and Pairo. She would never have asked for more than that.

Once again, she leans against the trunk of the tree, looking down at the book in her lap. Kurapika gave her the book he and Pairo found. _The Adventures of D Hunter_. She opens the book, but she sees nothing. The past few weeks have been nothing but her grandfather being in talks with Chikuta-san and his son, Tokuga. She had kept away for most of the week, deliberately coming late for her duties and chores.

A small part of her mind wants her to take the test. If Kurapika passed, then she would too. Pairo can even take the exam with her if he wants. She knows he wants, despite his increasing blindness in both eyes. Kurapika had promised to bring back a good doctor for him. That was the last thing they heard from him−his promise.

She turns her gaze downwards, to admire the greenery her home has to offer. Wild animals lurk in the darkest, deepest corners. According to some outsiders who married into the clan, their forest is plagued with deep ravines, cliffs, and unnoticeable crevices. There had been reports of Kurta villagers missing and never returning home. One of the many reasons her grandfather dislikes wandering about the area.

She drinks in the sight for a moment, before once again turning up to the skies. Something seems odd today: in the forest, in the very air. The skies are clear and there is no sign of the sun, and the winds are clammy and cold, like an ominous warning. She shivers under her orange robes and tucks her hair gone astray. The hill is eerily quiet. Usually, she would appreciate the peace, but not this time.

The stillness bothers her.

She waits for a few more minutes, knowing well enough that supper is starting and she is late again. Not that her father would mind. He is always as stuck-up as the old geezer is. No surprise in that. They are father and son, after all.

She sits back up, her long sleeves swallowing her hands, and she stands, one hand on the tree trunk, one hand around the book. Trees stretch as far as the eyes could see, separated by the long winding river in between. Apart from that, nothing else. She glances to her right and stares longingly at the white clock tower in the horizon. Perhaps she should take the test.

Still sightseeing, Valaerys pauses. How odd that Chikuta-san did not come to tell her that supper is ready? Or that her grandfather is beside himself again for her tardiness? Pride swells in her at the thought that she is not late this time.

The clouds gather over the forest, the impending rain threatening to fall any moment. She could smell a great thunderstorm incoming. Good. They never had a proper rain for months now. The crops and the livestock could use the refreshment. Her, too, since she loves dancing in the rain. Without Kurapika, however, it would not be as fun as it used to. She should see Pairo and ask him to join her.

The first thunderclap earns a yelp from her. As much as she loves rain, she hates thunder and lightning−loud, vicious things that always terrified her when she was young. She puts both hands against her ears to drown out the sound of thunder rumbling across blackened skies. She braces herself for another booming noise, but it does not come. No lightning either.

What she doesn't hear makes up for something she smells.

Too faint to discern what it is, but she knows something is burning. Still cautious of the thunder and lightning, she rounds the tree and spots a red-orange glow on the other side of the forest. It is still too far from the main village, but with enough winds, the flames will grow and spread. She gasps at the realization and starts running down the hill, almost stumbling from her own legs.

She hits the grassy floor and pushes herself off to a sprint, passing by columns of trees. As she turns a sharp corner, the blazing tree trunk collapses and blocks her path. Eyes wide, she realizes that another fire has started on this side of the forest. In no time, the two sides would meet, engulfing her village in the middle. Her heart races, her mind blank with nothing else but fear. What to do? Where to go? Ask for help? Go forward and search for her family?

Another trunk collapses behind her. The embers scatter and land on her robes, singeing them. Screams follow next, a deadly melody laced with horrified cries. Valaerys finds a way around the burning forest, but is trapped again when more trees block the road. The bushes are on fire, and the grassy floor is hot as cinders. The heavy smoke clouds her vision and makes it harder to breathe.

"Grandpa!" She coughs as she walks around the place, dodging falling branches and canopies. In a distance, she hears the continuous rattle of guns and the dismantled cries of her clansmen. "P-Pairo!"

Overhead, the thunder rumbles. The black skies unleash the heavy rain, smothering the forest fire. Valaerys finds a small crevice and pushes herself, spending a few minutes there, waiting until the fire is out and there is nothing to hinder her but thick white smoke. Her lungs are constricted from the smoke, and tears keep brimming from her eyes as the sting continues to hurt.

When she goes out of her hiding place, she coughs again and looks around her. The once beautiful greenery has turned into nothing but a smoking wasteland. The embers are blinking red-and-orange, the thick smoke unrelenting.

Everywhere she looks, there is nothing but charred houses and trees. The rain pounds harder above her head, but she doesn't care. With her hair plastered on her body, she runs around searching for people, screaming their names, fighting off tears at the same time. At the last round, she hears a faint cough from underneath the pile of rubble.

"Chikuta-san!" Valaerys removes the debris on the older man's chest and kneels beside his broken body. Carefully, she lays both hands on his shoulders and helps him to sit up. He wheezes and coughs more blood on his chest.

"Va… Val…" Chikuta manages between short gasps. There is a deep gouge in his stomach, the flesh red and the muscles beating. He grips her hand with his own, bloodied as they are. "Run… Run away… Now."

"What's happening?" she demands. "Who's done this to us?"

"Outsiders…" Another wheeze. Blood bubbling from his mouth. "Very… powerful…"

She freezes, unable to understand for a moment. Her eyes trail to where she laid the book, detailing the adventures of an outsider called Hunter. How could such a person do that to them? She shakes her head, shivering from the cold rain. "I will get you out of here, Chikuta-san… Come on. Let's get you up."

His fingers grab at her robes, staining them further. "No! You mustn't take me! Go… Alone… Hurry!"

"I will not leave you here to die!"

"You must…" He gasps for air, but gets nothing but the rain. Valaerys shields his face using the book, careless if the pages are soaked and unreadable afterwards. "Please… Hide. Run. Never come back… Outsiders… too powerful… took others near the cliff… Run, Val."

She doesn't know whether it is the rain or her tears falling down her chin. "I can't, I _won't_ leave you."

Chikuta, already weak and slipping away, takes the book and presses it to her chest. The rain soaks his dark hair and clouds his already weakening sight. "Go… Read your books… Be s-safe…"

Lightning crashes as his sighs his last breath, surrounded by the remnants of his destroyed home and a young woman who might have been his daughter-in-law. Blood continues spouting from his gunshot wounds. The bones of his hips and down are broken and twisted. Valaerys sobs over his head, never having felt this alone before.

She moves again, when screams echo into the darkness. She arranges Chikuta's lifeless body and comes across his sword. She picks it up, the dreaded weight of the blade so unfamiliar to her, and tucks her book under her arm.

Chilled to the bone, fearful more than ever, she creeps further into the place she once called home and tries searching for survivors.

It is a long walk−from the outer ring of the village to the village proper. Some bodies are black from the fire, and their limbs are broken like gnarled tree roots. She approaches one gnarled body and covers the gasp coming from her mouth. The burned skull is split open, the dentures pulled out and the eyes gouged from their sockets. The eyes are discarded on the ground next to the body and squashed under someone's boot like a rotten fruit.

A vomit threatens to escape her. She smells the disgusting stench of blood hanging in the air, mixing with the rain. Death clings to her like a second skin, and she is afraid to breathe louder than she should, afraid that the outsiders might hear her.

Approaching the village proper, her eyes begin to water again: the lovely homes are destroyed; their supplies thrashed on the ground, even their house pets murdered and left lying in their own blood. She could feel the anger rising inside her, but there's no red in her sight yet. Much better.

The pleading screams grab her attention. Like Chikuta said, the outsiders took the villagers to the cliff, the highest elevation in the Lukso Province.

Clutching the sword tighter, she follows the sound, drowned out by the occasional streaks of lightning.

Valaerys approaches behind the trees and bushes not damaged by the fire. The rain muffles out her footsteps, squishing in the mud, as she crouches and peeks between the leaves.

Her eyes narrow at the amount of outsiders standing around as if they own the place. She counts nine outsiders: seven males, two females. All are dressed in strange clothing, stranger than her own. Outsider's clothes, no doubt.

Around the outsiders, all the Kurta members are separated according to age: adults on the left, children on the right. Everyone seems bound by some kind of rope that she could not see. Despite the separation, there is one thing common between the hostages. Deep slashes crisscross every inch of their bodies, with the children receiving more from a short, dark-haired man. He whips them all with a cackle in his lips, the hunger in his dark eyes.

The parents are shouting and thrashing, but a man and woman silence them with guns and swords in their faces.

Valaerys holds her breath, clutching the sword against her chest.

Then another man comes sauntering; he is the biggest man she has ever seen, with spiky grey hair and wearing fur over his powerful back. He grabs two men by their necks and shoves them facedown to the damp earth. As the two Kurta try to scramble away, another outsider−another gigantic man with strange lip piercings−puts out both hands and guns them down. The first man laughs and claps the second on the shoulder, while the rest of the group chuckle to themselves.

A powerful crack of the whip sends one of the children flying. Valaerys flinches as Pairo, bound by the invisible rope, struggles to his feet and faces his assaulter. She grips the sword and the book tighter. She knows she doesn't stand a chance. She knows there are no chances of getting out alive. But if it means saving Pairo? Saving at least one life against these savage monsters?

One of females breaks from the group. A petite, pink-haired woman must have sensed Valaerys's presence and stalks towards the bush, her blue eyes narrowed dangerously. Then the woman stops her approach, turning to look at someone else.

Just then, someone emerges from the shadows. Hair dark as raven, eyes even darker−the young man approaches with cold grace. He wears a black trench coat as protection against the pouring rain, with a white shirt underneath the coat. When he joins the group, the others make way, nodding to him.

"You…" A feeble voice comes from the crowd. Valaerys knows that voice anytime, anywhere. Her grandfather sits among the elderly, hands bound in front of him. For the first time in years, his usually dreary brown eyes are now a brilliant scarlet. "You're the leader, aren't you…?"

The lightning flashes. The young man looks down on her grandfather as if he is an old fool drunk in the streets. The silence wears on, and for a moment, Valaerys foolishly thinks the young man did not hear.

Finally, he answers. His voice is like silk. "Yes, I am."

Her grandfather crawls forward, struggling against his bonds. Around him, the other members take their positions, as if an old man can pose such a threat to them. "Then we can talk, leader to leader, man to man," he says. "You understand how much our people mean to us, don't you? For us leaders, they are the world… Please… Take me and the older ones, but not the children… Have mercy on the children…"

The young man tips his head to the side.

"The children… They are our legacy," her grandfather pleads, and it hurts Valaerys so much to hear his desperate pleas. The Elder crawls forward until he kneels at the leader's feet, like a fervent worshipper in a church. He dares to bow before the dark-haired monster. "Please, have mercy on the children, sir."

"I believe you are confused," the man speaks gently. "You are in no position to bargain with us. We take everything. We accept anything. We do not do anything by halves."

There is something in his statement that makes Valaerys angrier. She wants to have a chance, find an opening for a distraction−but what can she do? Against that man with the fur or the other with gun in his fingers, she could not do more than take three steps from her hiding place. Yet, as the leader lectures her grandfather about the consequences of life and death, she grows more anxious.

The villagers continue screaming, thrashing. The mothers are crying for their children's lives. Kurapika's mother thrashes the most, her beautiful face angry and filled with such hatred. Kurapika's father has his face bruised from fighting back. Valaerys's own father sits beside them, one eye swollen from a punch.

The leader turns his attention to them instead, and points an index finger at Pairo. The blood in Valaerys's veins suddenly runs cold.

"Let me set an example," the leader says.

A buffoon with a topknot grabs Pairo by the skin of his neck. He sets the helpless boy down to a bloody tree stump, lays his head across, and unsheathes his katana. Pairo closes his eyes but doesn't scream or cry. Anyone who knows Pairo should know that he is stronger than they think.

"Please! No!" The Elder stumbles on the damp earth, the mud muffling his words. "Pl-Please..! Have mercy!"

"I think not," replies the leader, never taking his eyes off Pairo and the executioner.

As the sword slices through the air, something snaps in Valaerys.

No more hiding and cowering in fear. No more second-guesses.

She emerges from the bush and chargers towards the leader, the sword high in the air. He must have seen her coming, for he turns around to meet her attack. She flings the book at his face and raises the blade−until a gunshot rings out and pain seizes her senses. She staggers from the first shot, blood trickling from her temple, until another one hits her right shoulder. She spots a blonde woman holding two pistols, the barrels still smoking. The momentum reels her backwards, away from the leader, away from the villagers, from her grandfather, from Pairo.

Her unsteady feet hit gnarly roots of an old tree and she falls over the yawning mouth of the cliff. She can hear horrified screams, her father shouting her name, Pairo clambering to get to her. But there is nothing to stop her from falling. She closes her eyes, welcoming the darkness.

* * *

Finally, it is over.

After months of admiring sketches of Scarlet Eyes, he finally has the real thing in his hands. He can finally admire the brilliant scarlet hue, the way the irises flicker against the light. He has admired them from afar and now he has his own collection to admire, to do away as he sees fit to these treasures.

He has to admit: it is not an easy job. Locating the reclusive Kurta Clan was hard enough as it was. He had to rely on Shalnark's Hunter License to give them a vaguest idea where the clan lived. Once the location was determined, he called upon members of the Troupe who conveniently had no other businesses. It is always so relieving to get to reply from his members, his legs. He is, after all, their head.

"Danchou." Pakunoda approaches from his left. Her short blonde hair is whipped up by the strong wind and rains, plastered around her shoulders and pale blue blouse. "We have already collected all pairs. Uvo and Franklin are loading them into the crates."

"I see."

"May I ask something, Danchou?"

"Of course." Chrollo does not bother glancing at her. Ever since the appearance of the Kurta girl, his sights are ever to the cliff she fell into, the abyss that consumed her. Even now, hours after the last member is killed, he stands on the precipice and looks down, as if hoping by some strange miracle that the girl survived.

Pakunoda, ever the perceptive one, studies his serene face. "Is there anything wrong?"

He remains rigid. "Thank you for saving me," he murmurs, as if it is a big deal anyway. He knows he could have dodged; he sensed her presence long before she charged, yet he allowed her to attack.

She blinks at his strange words. "It's-It's nothing, Danchou… I was only doing my part…"

"Then you shall do more for me." For the first time since the girl's disappearance, Chrollo moves from his spot and beckons for Shalnark. The bubbly Spider is more than happy to oblige and comes running to the leader. "Do you still have that flashlight, Shal?"

"Right here!" Shalnark spins the flashlight between his fingers.

"Good. You two are coming with me." Chrollo faces the other Spiders. "The rest of you stay here and keep filling the crates. No one leaves behind a single eye. Am I understood?"

There is a collective "Yes, Danchou" from everyone.

Nodding to his companions, the Spider leader jumps off the cliff and narrows his dark eyes for any signs of his target. To his surprise, it is a steep cliff, badgered by sharp rocks and some overgrown roots. He jumps from one boulder to another, calculating his descent. Hands in his coat pocket, he lands on the riverbank and looks around the area.

Thick fog surrounds the place. He could see no more than ten feet away from him. As Shalnark and Pakunoda land behind him, he starts in observation. The body should be around here somewhere. The fall should not have thrown it too far, no matter the altitude. The valley is narrow, accompanied by a shallow river. If the girl died, and Chrollo looks forward to see her corpse, she should be close.

He notices an orange fabric caught between sharp tree branches. He takes it and rolls it between his fingers.

"Paku."

"Yes, Danchou?"

Chrollo hands her the fabric and moves on.

Shalnark, equipped with the flashlight, waves it over his head. "Danchou! I found something!"

The leader joins him as he stands in the mouth of a large cave. Shalnark shines the flashlight on the ground, the mud mingling with fresh blood. Then he shines the trail of blood that leads into the cave. Pakunoda stands from behind, the fabric still in her hand.

"She's inside," she says. "I know it."

"Then let's go!" Shalnark excitedly punches the air.

Water ripples somewhere inside the cave. The three of them, walking close together and following the light, hear their own careful footsteps resonating and bouncing off the ceiling. If it is cold up there after the terrible rain last night, it is colder down here. The deeper they go, the colder it becomes.

The bloody trail drags on for a few minutes, still fresh and quite profuse. Pakunoda eyes the blood and reminds herself that this is her doing. She shot the young woman threatening to kill Danchou, even though she was not much of a threat.

The light catches something iridescent in the darkness. They stop walking, and Shalnark directs the beam of light up ahead. They all see her, Chrollo even more so.

Her Scarlet Eyes are bright in the shadows, like a wildcat's eyes flickering in a dark jungle. When the flashlight shines on her face, she gives a hiss and puts up her bruised arm to cover her eyes. Chrollo frowns then: he wants to see her eyes. He wants to see the Scarlet Eyes in the head of a living, breathing Kurta. She is the last of them, the rest are packed in glass canisters and crates. One pair is still inside the head of the young boy. All of those eyes are beautiful, but there is something else to the one that is alive.

"I can't believe it," Shalnark murmurs. "She's actually alive. I had thought the fall would kill her."

"Scarlet Eyes grant strength," Chrollo whispers back. "Perhaps they are the reason she's alive."

"Shall I take her out then?" Pakunoda loads her pistol again, ready to finish the job.

Chrollo raises a fist, signaling her to stop. He examines the girl with a connoisseur's gaze. His dark eyes travel to around her body, first to her feet and legs, to her orange robes decorated with golden swirls as in the manner of Kurta culture. Then he stares at the deep purple bruises standing out against her alabaster skin, shining wetly against the flashlight. There are more scratches on her cheek, but they are nothing compared to the bleeding right shoulder which she now holds delicately with her left hand. Another trail of blood gushes from her right temple, the blood dripping to her chin and then to her chest.

Next, he examines her eyes. Scarlet Eyes−how extremely beautiful. Framed by thick platinum blonde hair, they look even better. He nods, stroking his chin, like a curator observing a rare piece of art.

"What shall we do with her, Danchou?" Pakunoda's voice sounds faraway.

Chrollo studies the girl's face and expects hostility from her. Instead of anger, he senses something else. He could see it in her eyes. She is not angry or hostile. She is confused and exhausted.

Kneeling on the cavern floor, he tilts his head. "What's wrong?" he asks her. "Are you all right?"

The girl scrambles away from him. She breathes heavily, but winces every time she does. The gaping wound on her shoulder must sting with every breath she takes.

Chrollo, his strong curiosity taking over, pushes onward. "Do you understand what's happening here? Have you any idea what happened to your family, your friends?"

No recognition dawns in her eyes. His dark heart flutters. A good sign. "Do you know your name?"

She hisses back. "Na-Name…?"

He nods in encouragement. "Yes, your name. What is it?"

Behind him, Shalnark and Pakunoda exchange incredulous glances at one another.

"…Name," the girl mumbles under her breath, eyes cast down. "Your… name…"

"Not mine." Chrollo shakes his head, amused. "Yours. I mean yours."

"Mine?"

He nods again.

She looks around the avid faces waiting for her answers. It takes an effort to force the words out of her mouth. When she does, she seems all the more confused. "V-Val…"

Shalnark wags his finger in the air. "Your name is Val?"

The girl winces again, clutching her wound harder. "Name… Vale… Val…"

Pakunoda sighs and inspects her nails. "Obviously, her name is longer than that."

"No matter." Chrollo stands up again and turns to her. He is back in his usual reserved self. "Paku, can you check her? I want to confirm something."

"Sure." The blonde woman kneels next to the Kurta girl and waits for her orders. "What should I check?"

"Everything."

Pakunoda puts one hand on the girl's forearm and closes her eyes. She concentrates on her abilities and comes across some blurry memories. She waits, and waits, and then−nothing. She gasps and snatches her hand back from the girl, as if she electrocuted her.

Shalnark immediately comes to her aid. "Paku! You all right? What did you see?"

"How strange," she mumbles and looks up at their leader. "There is nothing to see, Danchou. All I saw is the moment she woke up from the fall, then her crawling into this cave, our faces when we found her."

"And beyond that?" Chrollo prompts. "The attack on the cliff, you shooting her?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing. Her memories are blurry at best, but I promise you: there's nothing more except the moment she woke up. I didn't even come across a name."

That proves his theory, then. Satisfied, he nods his thanks to her and approaches the Kurta girl again. She bares her teeth like a cornered animal, but then winces at the pain of her wound. Her irises remain a livid scarlet, glaring at him despite her confusion. He loves the way it looks in her pretty head. If he had known that a living Kurta looks more beautiful like this, he would have spared one or two more.

"Um, Danchou?" Shalnark mutters.

Without words, without explanation, Chrollo Lucilfer removes his black coat and puts it around the girl's smaller frame. He carries her in his arms, bridal style to make it easier for him, and turns around to exit the cave without so much as a glance to his companions.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Thus I return with the second chapter! I thank everyone who read, followed, faved, and reviewed the last time. It means a lot, like a lot!

I will also make it a habit for replying to everyone's reviews. I'd like to make more friends in the HXH fandom, because HXH is life!

* **xenocanaan** \- Thank you very much for reading!

Here we also have the massacre of the Kurta Clan. I tried to make it gruesome, since there were not much information or details how the members met their end except for the gouging of the eyes part. I am sure the Troupe handled this more violently, but for little Pairo's sake, I left out the horrid details and leave them to your imagination. With Feitan in the fray, I bet he had a wonderful time.

As for the Phantom Troupe... *pterodactyl screech* I love them and I'm looking forward to writing more of them.

Has anyone seen the latest chapter? Because Prince Halkenburg became a rebel so fast and finally utilized his Beast's ability. MVP right there. With the banquet coming next week, I hope we get to see the Spiders attending the event. L̶o̶w̶-̶k̶e̶y̶ ̶h̶o̶p̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶D̶a̶n̶c̶h̶o̶u̶ ̶a̶p̶p̶e̶a̶r̶s̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶a̶ ̶s̶u̶i̶t̶.̶


	3. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

* * *

It is an unspoken rule to never question the leader's actions.

The members of the Phantom Troupe had shot each other questioning looks when their leader returned with the wounded Kurta in his arms. Their leader never explained himself, not even glanced once or acknowledged their dumbfounded faces. Instead, he had wrapped the unconscious girl in his coat and loaded her into the truck's trunk like a parcel, surrounded by the numerous crates that contained her kinsmen's severed eyes.

When Pakunoda and Shalnark joined their ranks, the Spiders swarmed them with questions, but the two were just as in the dark as they were. As always, the way their leader's mind worked is beyond them.

That was one week ago.

Now, Chrollo Lucilfer indulges himself by reading a hardbound book he has found under the rubble. Burnt at the edges, he deems it one of his best finds after the massacre. He has a steaming cup of coffee at arm's length away, his leg crossed over the other, as he leans back on his chair.

He could sense the confusion and hostility of the other members from outside the cottage, and so he glances up from his book, only to find his treasure still sleeping.

The Kurta girl has slept the entire week. Chrollo did not want to expose her to too much attention from the Spiders, and so only asked Machi to fix her up and Pakunoda to keep checking for the girl's memories. Every time the girl moves in her sleep, Pakunoda is there to check−to see if she has nightmares to share. Every time she checks, she gets no answer.

Chrollo leans closer to the bed and swipes the girl's bangs off her forehead. Her breathing is faint, her lips slightly parted in her sleep. He wants to be patient, but the nagging anticipation of seeing her Scarlet Eyes again drives him to the edge of his patience. It has been an entire week, and the Troupe is restless from the lack of action, already exhausting their resources down the drain.

"Danchou?" Shalnark appears at the doorway, reluctant to step inside the small room to invade his leader's privacy. His green eyes flutter to where the girl lies in her bed. "Um, the others are asking if we should move on to the next town. Uvo's finished the last stock of food."

"Has he now?" Chrollo muses, dark eyes back on his book. The words are foreign to him, possibly what the Kurta Clan used amongst themselves. He flips to the next page. "We are not moving yet," he answers after a while. "Send Uvo and Nobunaga to steal more supplies in the next town."

"Right, Danchou." The younger Spider leaves.

Despite the uneasiness in Shalnark's voice, Chrollo chooses to ignore it. The Spiders may think their mission is complete, but to him, it is only halfway finished. He has plans for the Kurta girl, if his theories would prove correct. He wants to experiment, to delve further in the mind of a human being−and what is a better specimen than a young woman, the last of her kind?

A few more page-flipping. Then, Uvogin enters the room.

Tallest and physically strongest of them all, Uvogin has to check himself and duck under the doorway. He tiptoes into the room, somewhat cautious that his large bulk would make the bamboo floor creak. They are only staying in one of the Kurta outposts at the edge of their forest, after all.

Chrollo never takes his eyes off his book. "Anything wrong outside, Uvo?"

Like Shalnark, Uvogin takes his time to stare at the Kurta. Not many Spiders have had a good look at her face, except for Shalnark, Pakunoda, and Machi. "Uhh−" He scratches his head−"we are just about to go downtown. Need anything, Danchou? Or for her?"

"No, we are all right."

 _We_. Uvogin doesn't like the sound of that. Moving carefully, he sits on the floor and tries his hardest not to make a sound. He succeeds and stretches his long legs before him. "You know, the others are really confused, Danchou. What do we do with this Kurta? Are we going to kill her?"

There are times that Chrollo really admires his friend for his brutal honesty. He closes his book and sets it on his lap, so that he could look straight into Uvo's hazel eyes. "Are you annoyed, Uvo?"

Uvogin snorts. "Hell, yeah. We've been doing nothing for a week, Danchou!"

"And so we have."

"So what now?"

"We stay here."

"Why?"

Chrollo gives his friend a long, thoughtful look. _Why, indeed?_ He could go on for hours about what is running in his mind, on how he wants to start experimenting once the girl awakens. But that would only take too long, and he has no habits of explaining his plans when they are not yet solid. It is too soon for an explanation. He needs the girl awake first, and then he could talk to the others.

Nobunaga then enters, wearing an annoyed face. "What the heck, Uvo?! What're you doing in here? We're supposed to go to town five minutes ago!"

"So loud," Uvogin complains, covering his ears.

"Let's just go!" Nobunaga demands, stomping his feet on the floor.

At this rate, Chrollo wonders if the girl would wake. A small part of him wishes she would.

Glowering, Nobunaga turns his heels and leaves the room, though he takes a brief second to snatch a glimpse on the sleeping girl, still huddled under a blanket and breathing faintly. He feels annoyed to the core, but with their leader's thoughtful presence, he decides to stomp away. Uvogin yawns and follows him outside the cottage.

The girl moves to her side, muttering something under her breath. Chrollo narrows his eyes and waits, but his waiting comes to naught. She remains sleeping.

Somewhat already tired of waiting and watching, he gets up from his chair and goes out of the room. The outpost could only hold a few people, forcing the Spiders to camp outside. The crates of the Scarlet Eyes are stocked in the living room. He would not want to open them in such a dreary place. Such beautiful treasures must have a proper shrine.

Outside, the Spiders turn around to meet his face. They all nod to him, and he nods back. He puts both hands in his pockets and observes the surrounding forest. They are too deep in the mountains to be discovered. There is a cliff not too far, allowing them a bird's-eye view of the province.

"Status, Shal?"

"Unchanged, Danchou," Shalnark reports. "Though there are some strange happenings two hours ago."

"Happenings?"

"The birds are flying away, must be some kind of commotion."

Chrollo nods. Travellers, reporters, or even gossiping people. One week after the forest fire and massacre, someone is bound to find the rotting, eyeless bodies they left behind. "Phinks, Feitan."

The two Spiders step forward: one a tall, blond man wearing a tracksuit, the other a short dark-haired man. If there is someone proficient in murder, it would be these two−the ruthless pair.

"Learn what you can about these happenings," the Spider head commands, his voice ever quiet and gentle. The other members flinch in anticipation, hoping for a battle. Yet Chrollo does not want to take risks. "Kill anyone who dares go near the site. We cannot have swarms of police and Hunters on our trail."

"Aww. Why not, Danchou?" Phinks whines.

Chrollo smiles as he walks back towards the cottage. "We cannot risk too much attention. Not yet."

With a defeated sigh, Phinks nudges Feitan on the shoulder and races him down the mountainside. The others left behind also sigh and stretch, finding the absence of the loudest members peaceful. Shalnark sits cross-legged on the ground and plays with his phone; Franklin trudges to his post on the other side of the cottage; and Machi and Pakunoda, expecting their leader to ask them to check on the Kurta girl, give each other questioning looks.

As he approaches the room, Chrollo feels an unwanted presence inside. He stops by the doorway, one hand on the frame, and feels a flicker of possessiveness when he finds Omokage leaning over the bed, with his face merely inches away from the Kurta girl. To Chrollo, they look like one of those fairytale stories, where the prince kisses his princess.

He keeps the coolness in his voice. "Omokage," he says, "what brings you here?"

The master puppeteer barely moves. He rolls a lock of platinum blonde hair between his thumb and forefinger. "She's a beautiful sight, isn't she?"

"Yes." Chrollo steps closer to the bed. "She is."

"Mind if I check her?" Omokage's wild black eyes gaze up at him.

"I don't think so." One of the many things Chrollo dislikes is someone touching his property. Not his books, his clothes, his treasures. There is a part of him that wants his properties in the best conditions possible, especially a breathing Kurta. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Omokage chuckles to himself and finally draws back, straightens himself, and grins at Chrollo. "I was hoping you'd let me touch her for a while. Not really _touch_ , but observe her, more like."

Chrollo sits on his chair, one possessive hand on the bed's edge. "For your puppets?"

"Yes!" The other man grins wider, maniacal even. "I already know what the other Spiders are thinking. I have slipped deep within their hearts and know for sure that they hate this Kurta for living. So, I want to propose something to you, Danchou."

"Really?" Chrollo rests both elbows on his knees and leans forward. "What can you have in mind?"

"I will make a doll out of her," Omokage says, pointing a finger to the sleeping figure. The crazed look in his face deepens with enthusiasm. "With your permission, of course. Once I do, all I need is her Scarlet Eyes to make the doll complete. She will be as sentient as dolls can get. She will be more powerful than this one. And… she will be _eternal_."

The Spider leader keeps silent for a few moments, but only to put on a show that he is considering Omokage's proposal. However, deep inside him, he has already decided what to do with his possession. He would not let anyone sway him from this course. He has a deep thirst for knowledge to quench, and that can only be successful once he has everything about the Kurta under control.

Chrollo meets the puppeteer's frenzy with calmness. "I appreciate your intentions, Omokage, but I already have plans for her. I want her as alive as possible."

The puppeteer's determined grin slowly tugs into a frown. The face he gives the leader is one out of confusion. He looks back and forth at Chrollo and the Kurta girl, who still remains unnamed. He swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head.

"If you say so, Danchou."

"Thank you, Omokage."

At the doorway, the puppeteer pauses and turns back. "One more thing, Danchou. Can I choose her name?"

The Spider leader shakes his head. "I already have."

Before Omokage's shadow could truly leave the room, Shalnark comes rushing through the door, bumping onto the puppeteer in his haste. His green eyes are glazed with threat and urgency, something that makes their leader narrow his eyes in response. Omokage himself lingers by the door, eavesdropping.

"Danchou!" Shalnark all but shouts. "Blacklist and Treasure Hunters! They're closing in on us!"

"What?" Chrollo sighs, finding it more of an inconvenience rather than a threat. He has mountains of crates filled with Scarlet Eyes to relocate. What is more: he has an unconscious specimen, too. He would need the strength of the whole Troupe to protect the items. "How did they find us?"

"Probably Nen users," Machi chimes in, with Pakunoda at her back. "They must have received reports from the townspeople about the forest fire."

"What should we do, Danchou?" Shalnark asks.

Chrollo stands and rolls back his shoulder. If Uvogin is here, he would have jumped out of joy from the ensuing action. "Shalnark, you take Franklin and Machi to prepare for the relocation of the crates. Omokage will prepare the trucks. And Paku, you will help me with the load."

Pakunoda nods. She anticipates that the boss would take the Kurta's wellbeing into account.

"Well, then−"

An explosion. It rattles the cottage and everyone inside. Machi and Shalnark leave the room just in time to steady the crates. Pakunoda and Omokage rush outdoors and spot a thick, black smoke not too far from their hiding place.

Franklin whistles. "Looks like we've got company."

Pakunoda prepares her guns. "Hunters?"

He makes an annoyed face. "Idiots."

Whipping her head towards the forest road, Pakunoda sees Phinks and Feitan running back towards their camp. The two appear haggard, but both are grinning like the idiots they are.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hisses at them.

"I? It not my fault," Feitan says in his defense. He jabs a thumb at Phinks's direction. "Ask genius over here. Showed himself before Hunters because he thought they robbers."

"Because they _are_ robbers!" Phinks shouts back. "They were looting for treasures and other stuff!"

"What that does make _us_?" Feitan counters.

"We're professionals!"

Pakunoda feels her head starting to ache from all the shouting and bickering. She hears the sound of motors and cars heading their way, climbing up the steep curve of the mountain. She turns about and sees Shalnark and Machi almost finished loading the Scarlet Eyes in the two trucks they stole from town.

Chrollo steps out of the cottage, and Phinks and Feitan stop their arguing. "We should get moving," he commands in a quiet voice. "The safety of the Scarlet Eyes is our priority. Phinks, Feitan−draw out the Hunters and keep the fighting here, while others escape out to the forest. And Shal−call Uvogin and Nobunaga. Tell them the situation has changed."

"Aye aye, Danchou!"

There is a loud whistling sound coming straight to their outpost. Every Spider lunges out of the way of the rocket, and it explodes a few meters behind the cottage. The thatched roof catches fire, the bamboo walls collapse from the impact, and the very stilted legs in which the cottage stands upon threatens to give way. The Spiders look back at the sorry little house without much care, though their leader rushes back inside to retrieve his most precious treasure yet.

Chrollo shields his nose from the black smoke and easily finds his way back to the room. Two walls have collapsed, revealing the forest scenery from behind. What catches his attention the most is the person on the bed.

 _She's awake_ , he notes with satisfaction. His Kurta is awake and he can finally move on to his exploration. He is careful when he walks towards her, his dark eyes trained on her golden ones.

She sits on the edge, two bare feet flat on the floor. Her orange robes are askew, unveiling one creamy shoulder. Her pale blonde hair is over her other shoulder and covers the bandages of her gunshot wounds. She peers around her as if trying to discern what is happening, and then notices Chrollo's careful approach. She blinks at him.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, kneeling on the floor in front of her. Behind him, he hears Franklin's gunshots ringing and exploding, accompanied by shouts of men falling dead. He puts his arms around her torso, carrying her off the bed.

"Danchou!" Shalnark's voice somewhere. "Time to go!"

"Never mind," Chrollo tells the girl and carries her in bridal style. "We have to leave now."

She says nothing. She only lets him carry her out of the cottage and drop her into one of the trucks.

The Spiders disperse. Machi drives the first truck and leads it out of the forest. Shalnark sits on the passenger seat, with Chrollo and his Kurta at the back. The second truck goes to the other direction, with Pakunoda driver's seat, Omokage and Franklin at the back. Phinks and Feitan decide to stay and keep entertaining their pursuers.

Chrollo sits back and relaxes. He knows well enough that those two can escape unscathed. Instead, he turns his attention to the young woman next to him, who is predictably quiet and confused with the raucous gunfire and screams. He watches her squirm in her seat and try to peer outside the window. As she turns, he notices the dark shade of red spreading on her right shoulder.

He reaches out to her, his touch gentle and calculated. "You're bleeding," he murmurs.

Machi glances up to the rearview mirror. "Shall I stitch her up, Danchou?"

Without permission, he proceeds to strip the Kurta of her robes, pulling it off her shoulder so he could see the extent of the blood. The girl does not protest at all. He believes she does not even comprehend the grave situation she is in.

"Yes, please do." Chrollo withdraws his hands and lets the Kurta observe her own blood.

"Shal−" Machi swerves the truck and it jerks violently upwards. The blond Spider hits his head on the roof and groans. "Take the wheel."

"Fine, fine," Shalnark sighs as they struggle to switch places.

Now on the passenger seat, Machi guides the Kurta to face her. She gathers the unkempt mass of hair away from the wound, and then proceeds to use her ability. The threads glow in the dimness of the vehicle as she works her wonders, knitting flesh, muscles, and skin together and attempting not to leave a scar.

Once finished, the girl stares at her closed wound in wonder. Chrollo nods his thanks to Machi.

"Where to, Danchou?" Shalnark asks.

"Have you called Uvogin?"

"Yes."

"Call him again. Tell him to find a place for us to stay in town."

Machi starts up. She seems concerned. "Downtown, Danchou? What if these Hunters find us there?"

Chrollo's eyes are once again trained on his Kurta, who now yawns and leans against the window frame. He allows her to sleep again, only because they are still in such a compromising position. When they are settled, he would also settle his score with her−once and for all.

"They won't," he answers Machi. "And if they do, we will kill them."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Keeping the update streak strong and steady here, fellas! I love writing the Phantom Troupe anytime, anywhere—so here's my chance! Thank you very much for reading this! As for the latest HXH chapter, rest in peace, Kacho!

* **xenocanaan** \- Hi, thank you! I imagine little Kurapika heartbroken because of the massacre. Poor baby :(

* **MissEkat597** \- Thank you! Hoped you liked this one!


	4. Chapter IV

**Chapter IV**

* * *

The trucks pass under a black archway and take the ascending road to a small hill, where a lone church stands at the top. The surrounding area is grassy, dappled with multi-colored wildflowers that sway with the slight breeze. At the church's entrance, Uvogin and Nobunaga await, wearing amused grins in their faces, both eyeing the black trucks coming to a full stop in front of them.

Shalnark climbs out of the first truck, followed by Machi. They crane their necks to observe the entire structure, but give no opinions from themselves. Instead, they turn their backs and keep their eyes observing but their mouths shut.

Chrollo exits next and offers one hand to his Kurta. With grace, he guides her to the gravel pathway, taking immense care with her right shoulder. The Kurta wobbles in her unsteady feet, and grabs the Spider leader on both shoulders to keep herself from falling.

"What is it?" Chrollo asks the members around him as he feels their eyes boring through him.

"N-Nothing, Danchou!" Shalnark waves his hands cheerfully. "Oh! Here comes Pakunoda's group!"

The second truck creaks and stops. Pakunoda and Franklin jump out at the same time, while Omokage, ever the imaginative one, walks in exaggerated slow movements as if his mind is elsewhere.

Uvogin grins at them from ear-to-ear. "Looks like you guys got yourselves into some trouble."

Machi smooths her short pink hair down her shoulders. "Could've been worse," she mutters.

"Oh, for sure." Nobunaga snorts as he glares at the young woman clinging onto Chrollo's shoulders. She takes one small step after the other, reminding him of an infant. To make things more infuriating, their leader is actually guiding her along her steps. Nobunaga frowns at them. "I was hoping she'd die from her injuries."

"Now, now," Shalnark coaxes. "There's no need to be so mean, Nobunaga!"

"But look at her!" The swordsman points his forefinger at the pathetic scene unfolding in front of him. The other Spiders follow where he points, opting to stay silent than to antagonize their leader. "She's small and weak, and she can't even walk properly or remember her name!" He unsheathes his katana and assumes his stance. "One quick nick and we'll have a complete set of Scarlet Eyes, Danchou!"

Chrollo, who is pleasantly silent yet amused at the exchange, finally lifts his attention from the struggling Kurta and faces Nobunaga's dark look.

"You are right, Nobunaga, if you do so we would have a complete set," he says. "But look at her."

Everyone turns to the girl, whose golden eyes are more focused on steadying her untrained feet, whose hands are tight on their leader's collar, her hair a tumble of pale golden across her back. She is oblivious to the argument she keeps inciting between the Troupe, and even if she does know, none of them think she would even care.

"We have a living, breathing Kurta amongst us−the last of her kind," Chrollo explains, his own dark eyes staring at her face. "She has no memories of her past, thus she cannot hate us. She has no knowledge of the world, and so she would depend on us. It is like creating another person through your eyes. And what could be more beautiful than experimenting with a rare specimen?"

"Hmph." Nobunaga withdraws his sword and scowls. "Fine, then. Whatever makes you happy."

"Indeed."

An awkward silence wears on. Chrollo decides the argument is over and leads the group into the church's main entrance doors. Uvogin and Franklin push the double doors open, which leads to a wide aisle with an extravagant red carpet. Several wooden pews are aligned from the altar to the back, while standing candelabras flank the sides of the granite walls.

The Spiders take their time staring at their new temporary base: there are several banners hanging from the vaulted ceilings, stained glass windows that depict various scenes from the Bible. The altar at the very front boasts an extravagant wooden structure painted with golden filigrees. Candles are burning low, some snuffed out by the wind coming from the opened doors.

Shalnark whistles in amazement. "Where's everybody?"

Uvogin puffs his chest in pride. "We killed them. We dumped the bodies out in the cemetery at the back."

"This would do very nicely," Chrollo comments and turns to face his members. "Unload the crates and set the Scarlet Eyes across the altar. It makes a decent shrine. Shal, tell Phinks and Feitan it is time to regroup. Tell the remaining others to come here as well. Machi and Pakunoda, you two are on guard duty."

"And the rest of us, Danchou?" Omokage prompts.

"Set the Scarlet Eyes on the altar," the leader repeats. He takes his Kurta and walks her down the aisle, rounds towards the back of the altar, and disappears behind a smaller door.

The hallway behind the altar stretches for a few meters. It is dark and cold here, without the presence of the stained windows from outside. Instead, there are only small circular windows that allow the drafts of wind. The walls are of old granite and the floor is made of cobblestones, making their steps echo around the empty hallway. Chrollo traverses the path as if he is quite familiar with the place, but he only follows what his instincts and what he has learned from his books.

Beside him, the Kurta has learned to balance herself on her own, and looks quite proud of herself as she paces after him. She follows him like a lost puppy, turning where he does and enters a room before he could shut the door in her face.

The room Chrollo chooses is none other than the personal bedchambers of the parish priest. It has a spacious presence chamber with an imposing hearth in the middle, bookshelves on the other side, a set of couch and round table, with a purple velvet carpet in between. He immediately goes to check on the shelf, brushing fingers across dusty volumes and smiling to himself.

The Kurta, however, has another thing in mind. She crosses the presence chamber and heads straight to the curtains. She peeks between a crack, and then opens it further. Chrollo, interested that she is finally doing things for herself and satisfying her own curiosity, joins her at the window.

A cemetery looms beneath them, countless of white gravestones and crosses present. A small mound rests in the corner, black and still sizzling, and at once Chrollo realizes they are the corpses of the priests, nuns, and churchgoers that Uvogin and Nobunaga killed to make room for the Troupe.

His eyes stray back to his companion's face. It is soft and serene, the very face of someone unused to these kinds of things. "How are you feeling?" he whispers.

She flinches, as though she does not expect him to speak. She gives him a surprised look, her golden eyes wide with unspoken allure. Her lips purse as she tries to form the words.

He is patient with her; he knows he has to be. He waits until she gives him a solid answer.

"I hurt," she mumbles, and gains more confidence when he smiles at her. Her eyes light up. "I feel pain… in my shoulder… and on my head… and here…" She points to each part of her body, then her finger stops on top of her chest.

"Your heart?" Chrollo blinks at her.

"Yes." She nods. "Heart."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Do you remember anything before all this?" He gestures around the room and the cemetery.

She shakes her head. "No."

"Do you remember your name?"

She freezes, fiddling with her fingers. "… No."

He smirks. "Would you like to know?"

The Kurta shrugs and leaves him by the window. For a moment there, Chrollo thinks he has lost her attention. She approaches the hearth next, running her fingertips across the surface. She notices the dark soot and blows them away.

In silence, Chrollo merely shrugs and chooses one of the many books in the shelf. It has been a long day, and he could use the quiet time to read and relax. He keeps a quarter of his attention on the girl, who remains walking around the chamber and checking the dead priest's belongings. He is grateful for her quietness, as he doesn't think he could do more from the incessant noise since that morning.

The sun sinks low in the horizon and paints the entire cemetery in a reddish glow. Sensing his companion's discomfort, he closes his newfound book and stands from the chair.

"Let's go," he tells her and wanders to the door.

She follows, hands clasped together in front of her. When the door opens and a large man stands on the other side, she blinks and takes one step behind Chrollo.

The Spider leader says, "This is Uvogin."

She tilts her head to the side. "Uvo… gin…"

The large man in question grins wide and bends down, his hands resting on his knees, as he proceeds to meet her eyes with his hazel ones. "Oh? Lookie what we have here! Finally feeling okay, eh?"

Uvogin gets nothing but silence from her. He is not disheartened, and brushes off her silence as he straightens himself and turns to their leader. "Danchou, Phinks and Feitan are here."

"Good. Let's go." Chrollo leads the way, flanked by his two companions on both sides.

Once they reach the end of the hallway and return to the church's nave, the Spiders cease their murmuring. The place is dark but for the glowing candles erected across the pews. Nobunaga and Franklin are standing close to ravaged pizza boxes and beer containers. Shalnark beams and shoots their leader a thumbs-up sign. On the other hand, Omokage enters through the main entrance doors and leaves a bouquet of white lilies on the altar.

Chrollo rounds towards the altar and admires the way the Scarlet Eyes gleam in the darkness. All fifty pairs of the eyes are aligned on the priest's altar table or on the ground before it. Omokage's white lilies blend well with the reddish glow that comes from the burning candles. The sight is so mesmerizing and soothing that if Chrollo would close his eyes, he could almost imagine a choir singing a requiem for them.

He is about to approach the Scarlet Eyes, hoping to admire their beauty closer, when the Kurta girl sidesteps him and ascends the dais without preamble. Surprised yet curious, Chrollo watches over her shoulder.

She stares at the pair in front of her, barely at arm's length away. Her shaky hands reach out for the glass canister and her fingertips trace the round shape of the eyes. The candlelight illuminates her face in a soft golden glow. Watching her peer at her dead kinsmen's eyes with wonder, not knowing what happened or who killed them, gives a proud tug in Chrollo's black heart.

He remembers that night, the last night of the Kurta Clan.

The plan was simple: draw out the clansmen from their forest through fire, trap them all together in one place, and separate the children from their parents.

Still, caught off guard as they were, they had proven to be strong fighters. Strong as they seemed, they were no match for the strength of the Phantom Troupe. The Spiders had gathered all outsiders who married into the clan, whose eyes did not turn scarlet, and gouged their useless eyes out and squashed them into the muddy earth. Now, that incited the wrath of the purebloods and their hatred made them stronger. It had taken the Spiders some effort to subdue them.

As punishment for their struggles, the children paid for it: whipped from head to toe, their fingernails ripped and their skin flayed from their bones. The youngest one had his whole head dismembered for his elders' mistakes. The rest happened in a flash: the Spiders gouged out the eyes of both parents and children, and dumped their bodies in pools of warm blood mixed with the raging downpour of the rain.

Chrollo ceases his reminiscence and climbs the dais to join her. She still checks each of the glass canisters and brushes her fingertips against them. He finds her cluelessness a great delight−a malicious one at that.

"Do you know what they are?" he asks under his breath.

"No." Golden eyes reflect the livid scarlet from the canisters. "Would you tell me?"

"If you insist."

Smirking deviously, he steps closer behind her back, his chin inches from her wounded right shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her body, smell the enticing scent of her dishelleved hair. His arm stretches out to touch the glass and swipe his thumb over one eye.

"These are the Scarlet Eyes of the Kurta Clan. When their emotions are perked, such as excitement or anger, their eyes turn into this. These eyes are considered one of the most beautiful colors in the world." He steals a glance at her face. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose," she murmurs, stepping away from him. She shoots him a suspicious look.

He shoves both hands into his pockets and climbs down to unite with his awaiting members. "You must be hungry," he says to her over his shoulder. "Come along now."

The girl descends the short flight of steps. In a blink of an eye, various people already surround her.

Feitan is the first to approach her. The dark bandana above his mouth is pulled down to show the deep frown he wears. He stands short beside her, only coming up to her shoulder.

"Hmm? I thought you already dead," he says by way of greeting. "Die sooner."

Nobunaga, still annoyed from the confrontation that afternoon, groans aloud. "Exactly my thoughts."

"Maybe she's tougher than you think," Pakunoda interrupts.

"That's right. I did read that Scarlet Eyes can grant extra strength," Shalnark points out.

"She doesn't really look that special to me." Phinks pats the girl's head as if he would to a puppy. "Apart from the pretty face and, obviously, the rare eyes, she can die out in the streets for all I care. One less mouth to feed, you know."

"Or dismember her and sell the body parts in black market," Feitan suggests. "More money for us."

"Yeah. More money to feed Uvo 'cause he finished our previous stock," Franklin teases.

Uvogin clenches his fist and stomps his foot. The marble floor shatters under his weight. "Hey! You were also eating too much, Franklin! And I already brought back more supplies so quit yapping at me!"

Shalnark jumps between the two arguing Spiders. "Come on, you two! No time for a fight!"

"Exactly." Machi crosses her arms above her chest. "Give us some peace and quiet for a while."

"This is getting to be a bit too noisy." Chrollo sighs as he snatches an unopened pizza box, a whole container of beer, and a box of cake topped with chocolate and fruits. He leaves the members arguing; the disagreement about the Kurta's presence has now turned to issues of Nobunaga's tardiness and Uvogin's habit of snoring in his sleep. He finds the bickering ridiculous at best, but that is one of the reasons why he loves being in the company of his members.

The Kurta follows the leader out of the nave and back to the dim hallway that leads to the priest's chamber. Inside, she catches the dark-haired man in the middle of lighting the iron hearth in the middle of the room. She seats herself on the couch, the window with its silver full moon behind her, and Chrollo joins her there.

"You have been sleeping for a week," he says, undoing the ties on the pizza box. "You must be starving."

"Ravenous," she corrects him and has the pleasure to see him taken aback.

"Right. Ravenous, as you say." He sets everything in place, from the pizza to the fruitcake and to the canned beers. He has no qualms on Uvogin and Nobunaga's choice of food and drinks, but he is quite concerned when the Kurta sips the beer and almost chokes from the nasty taste.

"You said something about my name a while ago," she says out of blue.

"I did." He nods and tucks his book away. The food is half-finished and the beer is barely touched. He makes a mental note to ask the others to find something more tolerable, probably coffee. His dark eyes meet hers in an intense match. "Would you like to know your name?"

She snorts, as if she doesn't believe him. "How would you know my name? Who are you, anyway?"

A small, knowing smile forms in his lips. A few hours ago, this girl had difficulty in speaking and walking. To think that an exposure to outside elements−the attack in the outpost, the Scarlet Eyes, and even the Spiders−would shape her mentality in a short period of time would result in something akin to suspicious curiosity, it makes Chrollo more determined to shape her according to his desire.

"My name is Chrollo Lucilfer," he says, his voice debonair and smooth. "I am the leader of the Phantom Troupe, though we also call ourselves the Spider. We steal whatever we want; we kill whoever interferes; we do everything we please. No one in this world could deny those to a Spider."

"What does that make me?" she asks.

"You are one of us."

"But the others−"

"The others are all but being disagreeable," he interrupts. "From now on, I want you to think _and_ feel that you are one of us. The Spider is your family and your only sanctuary. I am your leader now, and my orders are your utmost priority."

She seems hesitant, but there is one more thing she wants. "And my name? You said you know it."

The flames in the hearth emphasize the growing smile on Chrollo's handsome face.

"Valtiel," he says. "That is your name."

* * *

The next morning comes cold and foggy. Chrollo had slept in good spirits for the first time ever since last week, when they started camping out in the forest and had to stay in the cramped bamboo outpost in the middle of nowhere. He stretches like an indulgent cat across the couch, his book open above his chest, his one arm tossed over his sleepy eyes. The presence chamber is cold without the blazing heat from the fireplace. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, he rises from his makeshift bed, yawns, and heads towards the other side of the room where the bedroom is located.

He opens the door a little, peeking like a mischievous child. He finds the Kurta curled up on the priest's canopied bed, nuzzling under layers and layers of blanket. He enters to observe the spacious room, only to find the windows open and the cold winds gushing forth. He closes the windows.

"Hey." A sleepy voice inquires from the bed.

"Good morning," he answers with a smile. His eyes wander throughout her whole body as she sits up from the bed, her platinum blonde hair a mess. Her orange robes, dark with the stains of her blood and tattered from the struggle from the past few days, slip off her shoulder, with her skirt hiked up almost to her waist.

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing." Realizing his rude staring, he clears his throat and puts his hands in his pockets. "I was only wondering whether you'd like to have some change of clothes?"

"My clothes?" Blinking, she raises her arm and the long sleeves slip downwards.

"You could use a change of clothes," he decides and beckons her to him. "Come. We can ask Machi and Pakunoda to find you some in town. Also, we are in dire need of a proper breakfast. You are no better than you were last week. You would need nourishment if you want to live longer."

She shrugs her shoulders. "Whatever you say, _leader_."

He raises a dark, elegant eyebrow at her. "I believe the term you are searching for is 'Danchou'."

Now, it is her turn to raise an eyebrow. "Danchou?"

"Everyone calls me that," he explains without much interest in his voice. "You don't have to call me that. I really do not mind." He leads her to the hallway and back to the nave again.

"Yo! Danchou!" Uvogin roars despite the other Spiders are still sleeping.

"Pipe it down, idiot!" Someone complains in the shadows.

Chrollo looks around the place. "Where are Machi and Pakunoda?"

The larger man scratches his chin as he thinks. "Out on guard duty, I think? They're not here. They're probably patrolling the area for signs of those Hunters from yesterday. You need something from them?"

"More or less," the Spider leader murmurs. He glances at the girl, then to Uvogin, and judging by the way that the large man stares at her exposed skin is enough for Chrollo to demand new clothes. He would not stand and watch while the male members of the group ogle at her, especially not Omokage, whose desire to make a puppet out of her has increased since the scene at the altar yesterday. If Machi and Pakunoda are not around to assist him, then he would have to ask the other guys.

"Danchou?" Uvogin prompts.

"Is there anyone else already awake?"

"Nobunaga and Feitan."

"All right. Take them both and go downtown. I need a girl's clothes for Valtiel."

Uvogin looks lost. "Who?"

Chrollo gestures to the young woman standing next to him. "Her name is Valtiel. As you _do_ remember, yes? Now, I want you three to find decent clothes for her," he says hurriedly, before the other could interrupt. "Key word: decent. Nothing too short or too skimpy. Anything black would be appreciated. Do you understand?"

Feitan and Nobunaga approach them. "What's this I am hearing about?" Feitan asks.

"Danchou wants us to find clothes for the lady," Uvogin answers, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. "Something something something about not too short and skimpy, right?"

"Can I count on the three of you?" Chrollo turns to them with an expectant look.

"Leave it to us," Feitan grumbles under his bandana.

"Sheesh! If we only killed her before, then we don't have to find clothes for her!" Nobunaga stomps away.

"You are very kind, Nobunaga," Chrollo says in a slightly sarcastic tone. "Thank you for your consideration."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Hi, guys! Thank you very much for reading and all the support! For all the new readers and followers, many many thanks to all of you! We see in this chapter how devious Chrollo can be. And really, what else could I expect from this man? *sighs*

* **xenocanaan** \- Ooh! You're in for a long journey if you want to find out! :D

* **hisoDAMN** \- Thank you so much! I was a bit anxious about my writing because this is the first time I write in present tense. Also, I adore your username!

* **Rikkin** \- Another Danchou and Spider fan, eh? We'll get along well!


	5. Chapter V

**Chapter V**

* * *

Uvogin, Nobunaga, and Feitan set out to their task as the sun rises in the horizon. The Scarlet Eyes are still up on the altar, and when Chrollo turns back for Valtiel, he finds her up there again, gazing so intensely as if she could will them back to life and ask them the questions she would not ask him. He gets the feeling that she might be suspicious of him, that there might have been some discrepancy in his lies to her, but as far as Chrollo is concerned, being a perfectionist, there are no gaps in his lies.

He shivers under his black coat from the cold morning breeze. "What are you thinking about?"

Valtiel says, "You are right, after all."

"I am?"

"They are the most beautiful color in the world."

"Yes," he agrees, "they are."

An hour later, the sun has fully risen in the skies. The other members of the Troupe are occupying themselves in their own business. Phinks and Franklin are arm-wrestling each other, betting two million Jenny for each win. So far, Phinks is winning, much to Franklin's annoyance. On the other side of the nave, Shalnark busies himself with his new laptop and phone, tweaking some new applications he had found from the Hunter website.

Omokage slips into the shadows and approaches Valtiel. She has opened one of the stained-glass windows and looks out on the grassy field ahead. "You look radiant," he says.

She looks at him from head to toe. Each Spider has their own strange charm, though there is something about this pale, grey-haired puppeteer that makes her wary. "Oh, thank you."

"I was told your name is Valtiel?"

"Yes, it is."

"A fitting name." He nods in appreciation. He shifts his post, circling the young woman like a vulture to its prey, and tries to block their leader's watchful and possessive gaze from his position near the altar. "I suppose Danchou chose it for you?"

"It is my only name," she argues. "None other."

"Oh?" A provocative step towards her. His lips curl into a sinister smile. "Are you sure?"

"You−" She reads something in his wild black eyes, and it makes her stop and consider. "What are you−"

"Suggesting?" The puppeteer reaches out and rakes his long, bony fingers through her hair. He sighs in contentment, being so close to her, enough to see the bright golden flecks in her eyes. If only he could do as he wishes, then this girl would have long been dead, but with a puppet of herself to live forever. His fingers travel further down to the tips of her hair and attempt to touch the exposed skin of her neck and collarbone.

A dark, foreboding aura warns him from continuing. Omokage knows to whom it belongs.

The double doors open wildly and bang against the walls. With great enthusiasm, Uvogin roars that they are back. He raises both fists, which hold several paper bags, stained with blood on the edges, from a very unfortunate department store. Nobunaga frowns as he and Feitan approach their leader above the dais. Feitan drops more paper bags at Chrollo's feet to let him choose.

"Hey, Omokage," Uvogin says as he walks over to their side in the church. "Stop creeping her out, would ya? Give it a rest so she can choose for herself."

Grateful for the distraction, Valtiel pushes herself off the window ledge and sidesteps Omokage. She approaches the other Spiders with careful steps, somehow still perturbed of their hostile looks and deep frowns. Only one of them has the grace to smile so cheerfully at her, and she smiles back, hoping that they could be friends in this sea of glares.

Chrollo shuts his book and joins the others down the dais. He proceeds to check each of the paper bags, pulling out various feminine clothing that his men could find: a black office suit, a pair of tank top and pants, a baggy tracksuit, a lacy evening dress… Chrollo shoots a quick glare at Feitan's direction, who just shrugs and turns away.

In the end, the Spider head chooses a black yukata with dark purple floral patterns printed at the edges, its obi also a dark purple hue. He tosses it unceremoniously to Valtiel's face.

"Change into this," he orders in the same quiet voice, and goes back to his reading. "In another room."

"Hmph. Change into this," Valtiel repeats in a mocking tone, which elicits a few chuckles from some Spiders. Others, she notices as she slips out of their sights, gasp at her blatant disrespect.

She finds a dark alleyway that connects the nave to the basement stairs. In the shadows, no one could see her change clothes. The yukata is a bit larger yet soft against her pale skin, and it only takes her half a moment to put everything on−sash and all. She gathers her unkempt hair and lets it loose over her right shoulder. The sleeves go past her arms, and so do the skirts. When she goes back to the others, the mistakes she made are obvious in their incredulous faces.

Again, Chrollo gets up from his chair, sighs ever so softly, and starts fussing over her yukata. He works on her like a professional, very familiar with the workings of the clothes. He blocks the other Spiders from watching, well aware of their nagging curiosity of the girl.

Then he steps back, admiring her with critical eyes, yet frowning at her long hair.

"Your hair needs to be dressed," he says at length.

"My hair?" She blinks. "What's wrong with it?"

Chrollo looks around the spacious aisle and finds the other Spiders gathered around them. Still no signs of either Machi and Pakunoda. He berates himself for asking them to patrol. There couldn't be a more fitting time to order the only two female Spiders to care for the Kurta girl.

As if sensing their leader's need, Nobunaga steps forward from the line. "I can dress her hair," he offers.

There is a collective gurgles from the others.

"You?" Phinks chortles.

Nobunaga fumes. "Of the people in this room, who can actually style their hair?!" he barks back, one finger pointing at his topknot.

"Uh, not you?" Feitan mocks.

"Shut up, bastard!"

"We can just wait for Machi and Pakunoda to come back," Franklin suggests.

"Why not let Nobunaga try?" Shalnark smiles at everyone. "I'd like to see him try. Right, Danchou?"

Chrollo assesses the situation and looks back and forth between Nobunaga and Valtiel. Though Franklin may be right on his suggestion, he would also like to see what the hotheaded samurai could do. Nobunaga has been hostile to her ever since she arrived, that it makes Chrollo wonder why he would like to help now.

With a little nod as the leader's permission, Nobunaga rolls up his sleeves. He sits Valtiel on their leader's chair, turns her back against him, and sets to work.

Five minutes later, the church rattles with raucous laughter from the Spiders.

"That's not a bow!" Phinks clutches his stomach as he doubles over and bellows another laugh.

"You can't tie a bow to save your life!" Uvogin, teary-eyed, continuously slams a fist on the nearest pew.

"You're so full of crap, Nobunaga." Feitan fights the urge to grin, but fails as he turns around and snickers.

"Don't be so mean!" Shalnark tries to calm everyone down. "He tried his best!"

Phinks calms himself for a while and jabs a finger at the girl's hair. "That's not even _good_!"

Seated on the chair, with hands on her lap, Valtiel blinks at the commotion unfolding in front of her. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled up into two ponytails in each side, tied by a dark purple ribbon that matches her yukata's patterns and obi. However, Nobunaga tied the ribbon in the strangest angles, making the bow stand out vertically, its flimsy ends swaying upwards.

Eyeing the awkward bows, Chrollo brings a hand to his mouth and chuckles.

"Stop giving me that crap, Phinks!" Nobunaga wrestles with the blond Spider and shakes him by the collar of his blue shirt. A large vein pops out of the samurai's left temple. "It's not funny!"

"It is for me," Phinks points out and receives a headbutt from the samurai.

"Now, now, that's going too far," Franklin interrupts. He steps between the two men and forces them apart. Nobunaga sulks on the pew, arms in his sleeves, while Phinks goes away with another bout of laughter. Shalnark joins him, although his laugh is more careful not to offend Nobunaga.

"That's right," Feitan chimes in. "No serious fights between Troupe members."

"He started it," Nobunaga mumbles with a huff.

"Me? Why is it always me? Besides−" Phinks climbs up the dais and leans his forearm against the chair's back. He leans close to the Kurta and fingers the ribbons on her hair. "I think it looks _cute_. Exactly your style, Nobunaga."

A bench flies in the air. Phinks ducks out of the way and it crashes behind him, only a few feet away from the altar of the Scarlet Eyes.

Chrollo clears his throat. "That's enough. You did… well, Nobunaga."

It is supposed to quench the samurai's temper. It works. Nobunaga spares one last glare to the snickering Spiders and calms down. The rest of them start to disperse, looking at Valtiel's strange bows and cannot help but keep laughing until the night kicks in.

* * *

That sunset, Machi and Pakunoda return with three new faces trailing behind them.

Valtiel, forever seated on Chrollo's right side, the flames of the candles burning low around them, finds the new people strange yet intriguing. She edges closer in her seat, golden eyes following the movements of a short man with a mop of blue hair, another gangly man covered in bandages, and a young man standing as tall as Phinks yet with silver hair and feverish dark blue eyes.

Chrollo senses her interest perking and follows where her attention is. "Kortopi, Bonolenov, Yuan," he whispers, flipping to another page. "Now the Phantom Troupe is complete."

The young man with the silver hair idles closer to the dais. He meets her eyes, and then, sensing her focus on him, flushes in embarrassment and scuttles next to Franklin.

"Yuan," says Chrollo. "Our newest member; he's still very shy."

"Oh."

She nods, but doesn't take her sight off the newest three comers. The one whose name she remembers as Shalnark welcomes them with a bright smile; Uvogin and the others ask some quiet questions. Then she feels the inquiring gaze of the two female Spiders. She meets both their eyes and wonders what they must be thinking of her.

"Paku." Chrollo's voice resonates inside the church.

"Yes, sir?" The blonde woman ascends to the altar. Her brown eyes stray to the Kurta girl.

"Check her again."

"What should I ask her?"

He faces the young woman next to him, and could not help but remember the night he first laid his eyes on her. As much as he wanted the hatred and the anger to return to her, he is also quite entranced of her serenity. There is so much more that he wants, but patience is the key: she belongs to him, after all. He has all the time in the world to enjoy her.

"Valtiel," he says, savoring the sound of her name, "what do you remember?"

"I-I am not sure," she stammers, the fear creeping up to her as the blonde woman holds out a hand to her, and grabs her by the wrist. She winces at the tightness of her grip, and jerks forward when the other pulls at her like she would a rag. But instead of pain, she feels a cool, soothing sensation from her touch.

"Pakunoda is a mind specialist," Chrollo explains to abate her anxiety. "She can see through a person's mind and know what they are thinking or hiding. I am hoping she could help you remember."

"Help me… remember…" Valtiel closes her eyes and focuses on whatever her mind could conjure. She sees nothing in her mind but darkness, a few blurry faces of people she could not distinguish. There's a voice of a man in the back of her mind. _Danchou_ −it keeps repeating. Her eyebrows furrow. _Danchou… Do they mean… Danchou?_

She opens her eyes again and looks at Pakunoda. The other nods in acknowledgement.

Pakunoda straightens her blouse and office skirt. "I finished checking her," she tells their leader. "Still no new memories beyond the night of the incident." Then she peers at Valtiel. "I would recommend creating new memories in place of the old ones. The past is inconsequential now."

"Thank you, Paku. You may go."

"Yes, Danchou." Down she goes the dais, rejoining her comrades.

A few hours later, at midnight, Chrollo and Valtiel take leave of the Spiders. They stand from their spot by the altar and turn for the hallway, leaving the shrine of the Scarlet Eyes and its shadow lurching across the church walls. They walk back to their shared room in silence; Chrollo appreciating it after another day of rambunctious, senseless arguments among his members. Now that the entire Troupe is complete, he can expect more noise in the upcoming days.

Inside the priest's chambers, Valtiel takes a moment to peer outside the window and down to the blackened corpses of the church people. Crows have gathered since early afternoon, feeding on the corpses' eyes, tongue, and flesh, leaving nothing but grotesque bodies.

Chrollo lights up the hearth and returns his book in the shelf. He is finished with that one, a poet's take on religious beliefs, and picks another one from the same author: a book of poems that damns religions so different from what the poet believed in. He drops himself on the couch and starts to read.

"There is something I don't understand," says Valtiel all of a sudden.

"What is it?"

"Why can't I remember? Why do I have to rely on her help? What happened that night?"

 _Too soon_. Chrollo discards his book to the round coffee table and pats the space next to him. The Kurta obeys, sitting on his right as she has done throughout the day. Instead of answering her questions, he reaches out to undo Nobunaga's awkward bows, allowing her hair to fall in loose wave of silver-gold across her black-and-purple yukata. His fingers work out on the tangles as he thinks of his answer.

"You fell," he begins his narrative, "from a very high cliff. You saved me from getting shot but having yourself shot in my place. Then you fell, and the Troupe members searched for you all night." He studies her face, finds no trace of suspicion there. He continues. "When we found you, you were wounded. More than that, you have already forgotten who you are."

"And who am I?" she presses, a bit impatient.

"You are Valtiel," he answers gently, brushing his thumb across the apex of her pale cheek. "You are one of us. There is no other place in the world for you but with us. Pakunoda is right: the past is now inconsequential. It is time to create new memories. I would help you. The Spiders would help you."

She gives him a long, thoughtful look, as if trying to see through his words. Chrollo just keeps the tender smile on his lips, his fingers under her chin. At length, she believes him and nods, which earns her another handsome smile as reward. She pulls away from his grasp and heads for the priest's bedroom, and she doesn't see the shadow of a frown crossing Chrollo's features in a brief moment.

She stops by the door's threshold as if a thought crossed her. "And what of the Scarlet Eyes?"

His intense gaze never flickers. "What about them?"

A shrug. "What are we to do with them?"

He retrieves his book and ignores her. That is one question he would not answer her−not yet at least. He watches her from his peripheral vision as he flips to the next page, feeling her gaze on his face. She is stubborn, he realizes, when she spends the next three minutes waiting for his answer. Funnily, she reminds him of Nobunaga, and he knows the samurai would not be best pleased if compared to the Kurta girl.

At length, he gives in and sighs. "We have an assignment in three days. Best get yourself a proper rest. Good night, Valtiel."

She frowns and shuts the bedroom door behind her with a loud thud.

* * *

* _ **Valtiel**_ \- Servant/Attendant of God

 **Author's Notes:** So, I forgot to add the name meaning last chapter, so here it is! Haha. Also, I added another OC to complete the 13 members of the Phantom Troupe, which is interesting since I get to explore another character with a different background, personality and all. This chapter is a bit short and slow-paced in my opinion, but I promise that we'll be picking speed starting next chapter. Thanks for reading, guys! Also:

Chrollo: Change into this.

Valtiel: CHaNgE iNtO tHiS.

̶S̶h̶a̶l̶n̶a̶r̶k̶ ̶m̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶c̶h̶i̶l̶l̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶m̶e̶s̶.̶ ̶T̶h̶e̶ ̶g̶i̶r̶l̶'̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶o̶n̶l̶y̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶a̶ ̶d̶a̶y̶!̶

* **xenocanaan** \- OMG! I just realized you're one of my _To Serve and Protect_ friends! I feel so silly for not remembering! Sorry! And thank you so much for following this story, too. Thank you always for the very kind reviews. When Hisoka finally shows up, I can imagine him teasing Valtiel and Kurapika with each other just for the shits and giggles. For the mean time, she'll have her moments with the Troupe. ;)

* **polarsky** \- Why, thank you! I do intend to make her a fighter, eventually. I doubt she can last long with the Troupe without learning how to fight. Just the brawls and the mock fist fights in the Troupe? Girl's gotta learn how to punch. XD And yes, you're right! The -iel in the ending alludes to the angel name endings, so very Chrollo-ish.

* **minfay** \- Step right up! You'll be the first ChroVal/KuroVal (?) shipper!

* **Cirrina** \- Thank you so much! We all do love some Chrollo :3

Lastly, thank you again for reading. Please review!


	6. Chapter VI

**Chapter VI**

* * *

In the next three days, Valtiel slips into an easy routine. She rises with the sun and eats with Chrollo whatever breakfast the Spiders deliver at their door. She spends the next few hours in silence, either watching the leader choose his books from the shelf, rummaging through the dead priest's belongings, or staring out the window.

Mostly, she stares out−eyes up on the blue skies and counting the birds. At lunch, another Spider would knock on the door and deliver their food. Then, without words, Chrollo would leave the room, holding the door open for her until she follows him out. The altar of the Scarlet Eyes is well managed, never lacking an admirer or flowers. Then at night, the Spiders eat dinner together, play cards together, tease each other. Valtiel is comforted that they did everything together, with Chrollo seated with them to watch them like an indulgent guardian.

The Spiders may not find her presence pleasing, but at least they are not excluding her from their activities. Shalnark is happy to show her the latest applications he downloaded in his phone the other night; Uvogin shows her the spider tattoo on his lower back; and Pakunoda shows her how to clean pistols from inside and out. Chrollo watches everything with a pensive gaze, assessing the interaction between his usually hostile members to a quiet newcomer.

On the next night, Nobunaga redoes the bows on Valtiel's hair again, which makes the church rock with so loud a laughter Chrollo is almost wary that the Hunters might find them again. The samurai's face has been red with anger at his second failed attempt, though Machi tries to help by braiding the Kurta's hair into what she called a fishtail braid.

Whenever midnight approaches, Chrollo would close his book and the noise would die down in the church. The lights flicker behind his back, emphasizing the vivid scarlet from the eyes. Every time he stands up, the Spiders stand as well−as form of respect−and Chrollo would take leave of everyone and retire to the chambers. Valtiel, ever at his beck and call, would follow three paces behind him.

During these days, Valtiel has picked up a strange habit from one of the Spiders. She accompanies Omokage after lunch to go to a garden adjacent to the church. The divine puppeteer always picks the freshest white lilies for the altar, and, much to the surprise of the Spiders, Valtiel starts to come with him.

"White lilies are symbols of purity," Omokage tells her as he picks the largest flower from the bush. His glazed black eyes are focused on his task, though his sharp senses are always perked up. Instead of focusing on the Kurta girl, he has his attention to the two Spiders serving as her bodyguards.

Nobunaga looks like he wants to be anywhere else than here, watching over their leader's precious treasure. He leans against the nearest tree, seated cross-legged on the ground, with his sword across his lap. Uvogin, on the other hand, crouches on the ground next to Valtiel and peers over her shoulder, like a little boy excited over something. His hazel eyes light up whenever the girl picks up a lily and shows it to him.

Omokage sighs and continues on his task. He would have enjoyed the girl's company, but apparently their leader has something else in mind. If Chrollo cannot watch over his treasure with his own two eyes, then anyone from the Troupe would do.

"What else do they symbolize?" Valtiel asks him. A slight breeze picks up, stirring the locks gone astray from Machi's meticulous braid.

"Well, for one thing, they also symbolize modesty and sweetness."

"Pfft!" Nobunaga snorts. "Who cares about some stupid flower meanings?"

"I do," Valtiel says.

"I don't care. Uvo doesn't care. Even Danchou doesn't care."

"You should really learn speaking for yourself, Nobunaga-san." She stands up and gathers the bouquet of white lilies in her arms. The samurai jumps up at the same time she does, and stomps over toward her with another one of his annoyed expressions. She meets his gaze with a quiet one of her own, her eyebrow slightly raised as if to inquire his actions.

"How dare you talk back to me!" Nobunaga shouts in her face.

"Knock it off, would ya?" Uvogin stretches his arms high above his head, and then puts one big hand over the young woman's head. He yawns at their arguing. "You're so loud, Nobu. Just leave her alone."

"Leave her alone?!" The samurai sounds bewildered at his best friend's suggestion.

"Yeah, what else is there anyway?"

"Oh! I'll tell you−"

A strong gust of wind passes around them, momentarily stopping the ensuing argument. Valtiel yelps and holds on to her bouquet, shielding herself behind Uvogin's larger build. Then she notices Nobunaga's abrupt calmness and hears Uvogin whistle in amusement. Omokage creeps up behind her back, his black eyes boring through someone else.

Curiosity perked, she peeps from Uvogin's side and sees another Spider. Yuan, if she remembers correctly. The young Spider has silver hair and bronze skin, his eyes a bright shade of blue. Under her inquisitive gaze, he squirms, like the first night he arrived with two others.

Yuan bows his head low, avoiding eye contact with his team members. "Um, Danchou wants, ah, I mean… Danchou wants everyone back inside," he stammers and fiddles with his fingers. "Says it's urgent."

"Urgent, huh," Nobunaga muses.

"Better get going then." Uvogin jerks his head for Omokage, and leads Valtiel and Nobunaga past Yuan.

Omokage follows from behind. Yuan goes next, still with his eyes on the ground, looking almost afraid that he might stumble in his feet.

Back inside the church, the remaining Troupe members make way in the aisle as Uvogin and Nobunaga, flanking Valtiel on either side, walk forward until they reach the steps to the dais. The two Spiders stop walking then, content on watching a few steps behind, while the young woman heaves a deep breath and ascends the short flight of steps, where Chrollo awaits at the top. Her golden eyes are trained on his face−so composed and aimed on his book−that he probably does not even sense her coming at all.

But this is Chrollo Lucilfer: he sees, hears, and knows everything.

At the last step, he glances up from his book, meets Valtiel's gaze, and smiles ever so slightly. He acknowledges her as his eyes slide down to her arms, noting the new bouquet of flowers with appreciation.

Despite the early afternoon, the candles on the table and floor are already alight. Valtiel sets her lilies down to one side, disperses them so that there is a flower between each of the glass canisters. Like a wary predator, Omokage joins her on the other end of the altar, his hands shaky with hidden pleasure, knowing that their leader is watching his movements, no doubt feeling fear in his heart that Omokage might do away with his treasure.

When Valtiel and Omokage finish, Chrollo takes up the central stage and the Spiders gather on the floor before him, looking up at him and anticipating his orders.

"The vigil for the Scarlet Eyes has come to an end," he begins, his voice resonating inside the spacious church. The flickering flames of the candle throw his shadow long against the walls. "After two weeks of admiring, protecting, and harboring them, it is time to say farewell, and proceed to the next stage." His voice pauses as he meets every excited looks on his comrade's faces. "Now we sell them."

"Alright, Danchou!" Uvogin roars, the chandeliers above rattling.

Chrollo chuckles at his friend's enthusiasm. The world knows the Phantom Troupe for stealing priceless artifacts and treasures from all over the world, though they also know that whatever the Troupe steals, they also sell, once their leader has grown tired of them. Selling the Scarlet Eyes so soon does not mean Chrollo has tired of them.

On the contrary, he still greatly admires the hatred in their eyes, reflected after one nightmarish confrontation under a thunderstorm. He still loves the angry scarlet hue, illuminated more so by the candlelight−yet his patience has run rather thin after two weeks of not seeing that one pair of Scarlet Eyes he longs to see again. Valtiel's eyes have remained passive for too long, and Chrollo wants to start in his experiment as soon as possible. Yet he could not start with the presence of his members.

He puts up one hand to silence them. "This time, however, I decided to add a little game," he continues.

The Troupe members inch forward, the anticipation readable in their faces.

"We would split into five groups: four groups with three members, one group with only two," Chrollo explains, holding up his fingers to indicate the numbers. "We decide each team members by drawing lots. Shal, would you please write the names in pieces of papers? Write everyone's names except mine and Valtiel's."

Shalnark does a double take, his green eyes going back and forth their leader and the Kurta.

The others seem just as perplexed, but no one says otherwise.

A few moments later, Shalnark returns with the names and one shoebox. He tosses the papers in and rocks the box here and there, mixing everyone. He finishes and approaches Chrollo, who walks down the steps and gestures with one hand.

"Pick two names," Chrollo instructs. "They would be your team members. Don't open them yet."

"Okay, then." Shalnark dips his hand into the box.

The leader calls more team leaders to pick their members: Uvogin, Nobunaga, and Pakunoda. "The fifth team is comprised of Valtiel and myself," he says once the first three picked their papers. He looks around the four other team leaders and feels their excitement as if it is his own. "At the count of three, the team leaders shall read the names of their members. Ready? One… Two… Three…"

There is a mixture of celebration and disappointment:

Shalnark whoops and punches the air. "Alright! Best team _ever_!"

Uvogin grins wide, unleashing a bit of Nen. "Well, now, this is interesting!"

Nobunaga rereads the names as if he cannot believe his bad luck. "What?! _Them_ of all people?!"

Pakunoda taps her chin thoughtfully. "I can certainly work with this team…"

Valtiel stands beside Chrollo and notes that his lips are curled into the smallest of smirks. Clearly, he enjoys the reactions of his members. Yet Valtiel, left in the dark about this little game, only blinks and tugs on the leader's black sleeve. "What's going on?"

"You'll see." Chrollo has the gall to wink, then clears his throat before the dissatisfied members launch themselves into another fistfight. "Everyone, calm down please. We are not done yet."

"Hush!" Machi grabs Nobunaga by the skin of his neck and puts one hand over his mouth.

"Now, team leaders, read out your members' names," Chrollo instructs again.

Shalnark goes first. He says the names with a large, proud grin. "Feitan and Phinks."

The two mentioned Spiders glance at each other and smirk deviously.

Uvogin goes next. "Franklin and Kortopi," he says and high fives with Franklin.

Nobunaga snatches Machi's hand from his mouth. "Machi and… Omokage," he says with a defeated sigh.

Pakunoda smiles at the remaining unmentioned members. "Bonolenov and Yuan are mine."

Chrollo nods, remembering each teams and wondering how they could push through the game he has in mind. It is no complex games like he had played when he was young; no twisting stratagems or complicated rules. By all means, the rules are very simple that even a five-year-old child can comprehend. He has designed this game for his and his friends' entertainment, and, deep down, his own selfish desire to have Valtiel by himself for the next few months.

"The rules of this game are quite simple," he starts to explain, digging both hands in his pockets. "The five teams would divide the Scarlet Eyes amongst them. There are fifty pairs. All five groups will have ten pairs each."

"What for, Danchou?" asks Machi, already being competitive.

"What do you think?" Feitan returns with a scoff. "Danchou wants us to sell them."

"But why in separate groups? Why in a little game?" Franklin also voices out.

"Why, for entertainment's purposes, of course," Chrollo answers with a sly smile. He feels Valtiel's sudden interest, her golden eyes going back towards the altar. "The objective of the game is to sell these pairs to whoever you can find. It is your team's prerogative how to do things your way. Whichever team gets the most sales is declared the winner, and they can choose the next course of our mission."

And that last part, every single Troupe member gasp. It is always the Danchou who chooses where and when they get to meet for another job, what to steal, and who to kill. To have that privilege is like a dream come true. Already, the Spiders are coming up of ways to win this game.

Chrollo is not yet done with his explanation. "Bank statements are the only allowed proof of your sales. No over-the-counter, no deliveries, and certainly no stealing. The goal is to sell, not steal. We can steal again once the winners are declared. I would recommend deciding your missions carefully."

Phinks raises a hand. "How long is the time limit, Danchou?"

"Three months. Each team has three months to sell ten pairs of Scarlet Eyes. It is an absolute must to sell them and gain profit. Your methods are your own, as long as the deed is done. When the time limit is up, we meet again in the old church back home, at Meteor City."

At the mention of home, few Spiders soften and sigh longingly.

Feitan only shakes his head. "And when do we start?"

"Tonight." Chrollo glances out of the open window, the skies outside still a bright blue. "At midnight. Prepare everything your team needs. Everyone moves out with the packages at midnight. Does anyone have questions?"

"Can I switch team members?" Nobunaga asks, waving the paper in his hand. "I mean, Machi's all right with me, but Omokage−"

"No, Nobunaga, you may not."

Another sigh of defeat. "As you say, Danchou."

* * *

That night, everyone is in such a frenzy on packing up. No one bothers to clear the piles of pizza boxes and beer containers littered across the aisles. Instead, they pack up few personal belongings−clothes, weapons−and proceed outside to drop them inside their cars. Each team found a car, each better than the last. Then they would return inside, back to the altar, pick their share of the Scarlet Eyes, and then return to the car and put them in trunks.

Valtiel watches them in silent resentment. It is too soon for them to split up, though she knows Chrollo would not listen to anything she might say. She sits on the priest's ornate chair at the altar, her chin resting above her forearm, as Pakunoda and her team approach for their share.

"You all right, Val?"

"I will be," Valtiel answers. "Will you be?"

"Of course." Pakunoda nods to her members. Bonolenov nods back and carries four glass containers outside. Yuan picks four more from the left side, the farthest distance he can get from them. "We intend to win this game. There's something I want to steal for a long time now."

"Oh? What is it?"

Pakunoda cradles two containers and smiles at her. "It's a secret," she teases, and leaves.

Another group comes toward her. Nobunaga leads his ragtag team towards the altar and brusquely snatches every container he can reach, and shoves them into Machi's open arms. The pink-haired woman rolls her blue eyes and catches Valtiel's golden ones. They share a secret smirk as Nobunaga, once again, complains about his bad luck in drawing lots. Not too far from them, Omokage grabs his own Scarlet Eyes.

"You're probably thinking how lucky you are," Nobunaga huffs. "Teamed up with Danchou and all that."

"I think of nothing at all," Valtiel answers with a pointed smirk.

"Simper all you like, brat." The samurai turns his heels and glares at her over his shoulder. "If you do something very stupid while you're alone with Danchou, I won't forgive you!"

Machi rolls her eyes again, fed up with her team leader's temper. "Cut it out, Nobunaga. Let's just go. The others are almost finished packing. We can't let ourselves fall behind."

They leave together, bickering along the way. In place of them, Omokage walks up to her.

"You seem a bit melancholy," the puppeteer notes, tilting his head to the side. The piercings on his lip and eyebrows gleam against the low burning of the candles. "Sad to see everyone go? But you have Danchou, do you not? Or do you actually prefer our spirited company than Danchou's reserved one?"

"You get too ahead of yourself," she spits back, straightening on the velvet high-backed chair. She sees his flustered reaction, the offense written in his pale face, and she laughs at her crude joke, resting her chin against the heel of her palm. "Relax, Omokage-san. I am not Nobunaga-san. And I am not sad to see everyone go, just a little lonely perhaps? Is that the right word for it?"

"It may as well be." Omokage smiles in his enigmatic manner. "Only you can understand what you feel."

"Me?" For a moment, she looks confused. "How can I? Even I can form solid thoughts, I can't remember much about the past, and I can't figure out what to do with myself."

"Do you want me to help you, doll?" He leans his face closer to hers, close enough to kiss, his grey hair tickling her cheeks. In this so close a proximity, he can admire the gleam in her eyes.

A hostile voice breaks the enchantment. Surprisingly, it does not come from Chrollo.

Feitan stands by the puppeteer's right side, his dark eyes narrowed into slits. His spiky black hair sways with the wind from the open windows.

"Omokage−" he says in a dark tone that matches his narrowed eyes−"what do you think you're doing? You supposed to leave with Machi and Nobunaga, right?"

The puppeteer fixes his robes and gives the short thief a bitter smile. "I was just saying goodbye to the little doll here," he says, gesturing his bony fingers at the young woman.

The other looks none too pleased. He is neither fond of the puppeteer nor the girl, but if their leader enunciates that the girl's life is important, then he would do his part as member of the Spiders. "Leave her alone," he hisses. "Only Danchou can do whatever he wants with her."

"As you wish." Omokage laughs in a harsh tone. He descends the stairs and mocks. "Feitan."

"Tch." Feitan scoffs and faces Valtiel. "You do better to avoid him."

"What? Why?"

"He may a part of the Troupe, but still creeps everyone out. He can see through anyone's desires and regrets," Feitan explains as he fetches few containers, surprising himself that he wants to defend her from the puppeteer. Perhaps it is because she looks so fragile and lost, like a kitten, and he finds her pathetic that she should be in a den of hungry Spiders. "Just… stay out of his line of sight…"

"Okay." She nods and watches him leave. This might be the first time he spoke to her, and she comes into a realization that she has never said his name before. "Feitan."

The thief pauses and turns back to her. "What is it now?"

She shakes her head, smiling. "Thank you."

He snorts and goes off. "Rubbish."

Feitan exits through the main entrance doors and passes by Uvogin's team. Uvogin is the first to snatch his team's share of the Scarlet Eyes, though he dawdles long enough to tease the other groups into some heated competition: who gets more profit, who has the better team, who has a best strategy. The large man pats Feitan's head, then gazes out to find Valtiel still in her place. He waves a large hand, and she smiles and waves back, her hand small and slender.

Footsteps echo in the sudden silence of the nave. For almost a week, the Phantom Troupe gathered here and there was much laughter and arguments. Now, minutes before midnight, the marbled field is empty, save for the ten remaining pairs, one living Kurta, and the Spider head.

Chrollo heads outside to give final messages. He nods to each team as their cars rev and wheel out of the grassy field. He lets the cold winds brush his raven hair, grown long and almost to his shoulders. He adjusts his black long-sleeved shirt and walks back inside, finds Valtiel tending to the white lilies.

"You should get some rest," he murmurs.

"We're not leaving?" She sounds perplexed, wide eyes searching for answers in his calm demeanor.

"We have three months," he says with a shrug. "And we can leave in the morning."

"You said the game starts at midnight. It is already midnight," she says, very stubborn.

"I know what I said," he counters, "and I mean it. The others can have half a day's worth ahead of us. Still, they cannot beat us. You know they can't. But in doing so, I need you to get enough rest. We have everything to do tomorrow."

She sulks and pouts, disliking the tone of his voice. "Whatever you say, Danchou."

With a smirk, Chrollo cups her cheek and leans in to whisper in her ear. "Yes, you do everything I say from now on. You understand well enough, Valtiel?"

Valtiel steps back from him, to return to the flowers. "Oh, I am not so sure about that, Danchou."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Yay! Hello, I'm back! I was a bit worried I won't be able to update for this week. I went back and forth to the hospital because, apparently, I overfatigued myself when I sleep so late at nights. All I've been doing is write fanfictions! I have some meds to help with the problem, but I still have no regrets. Haha! I love writing!

Anyway, as I promised earlier, we will be picking up speed starting from this chapter. Oh, Chrollo... As Hisoka once said, you are indeed devious. Let the competition begin! Knowing the Spiders, I bet they would all be competitive af. LOL. Which team ups are the best and which teams are you guys rooting for? *wink wonk*

* **xenocanaan** \- Yup, I remembered because I swore to myself I read your name somewhere else! And thank you again! Val's gotta stand up for herself at times.

* **polarsky** \- Aww, I'm sure the Spiders will warm up to her in their own _spidery_ way. Haha. Me neither! If I was in her place, I'd probably be too scared by everyone.

* **Luminaaa** \- Thank you so much for binge-reading! Chrollo is one of my fave characters too! Danchou needs more love from us fangirls ;)

* **AwkwardBlackCat** \- If Val ever starts redeveloping her previous personality, I think it might take a long while. Chrollo really holds onto her and decides what should and should not be done, so it will be kinda difficult. And yes, the shopping trip went well... for the Spiders. For the salespersons... not really. Chrollo being Chrollo with the name meaning, too. Haha! Thank you for reviewing!

* **HELLO** \- Thank you for the review! I'm happy you like her character so far!

* **hisoDAMN** \- Are you a mind reader?! Because I totally headcanon Chrollo as a Scorpio! Some people think he's a Virgo or something, but for me, Scorpio it is. (I am a Scorpio myself so I know how it feels :D) And possessive Chrollo is yummy.

Thanks for reading, everyone! Please review and tell me what you think! 💕


	7. Chapter VII

**Chapter VII**

* * *

As Chrollo promised, they leave the church in the next morning. He does all the preparation on his own, while Valtiel is content by just watching him in the sidelines, studying his every movement. At his bidding, she agrees to stay behind while he acquires some sort of transportation for their use, in which case he brings back a luxurious dark limousine and parks it in front of the church. Valtiel then helps him load the Scarlet Eyes in the trunk, and then, sparing one last glance to her temporary home, she joins the Spider head inside the car and leaves.

They spend the entire day driving through the busy streets in the province. It is such a quaint, rural place, beset with cottage houses, antique shops, dirt roads, and lack of lamplights. Chrollo leads the car through the winding roads, ascending mountains and later descending to find a hidden beach. He keeps to himself most of the time, though at the sight of the beach, Valtiel perks up from her seat and stares wonderingly, giving Chrollo a mental note to one day take her to a proper beach.

It takes them nine hours of driving, passing through four small countries, to finally reach a metropolitan country known for its status in wealth and luxuries. Chrollo glances at his side, only to find Valtiel curled up and asleep. With a little shake of his head, he drives to an extravagant hotel.

Valtiel, grumpy that she is awakened from her sleep, immediately beams when she enters the state of their room. It is twice as spacious as the priest's chambers, and is ten times more sophisticated with its damask curtains, gilt-edged mirrors and windows, a set of velvet couch and table, and a wide television screen. She checks every inch of the suite, finding a kitchenette and a bathroom.

Chrollo, on the other hand, sighs tiredly and drops himself on the couch.

"What are we doing here?" comes the excited question from the young woman.

She goes to the glass door, opens it, and plunges herself into the balcony, hands flat on the railing as she drinks in the view of skyscrapers, flashing lights and billboards, with the late afternoon skies in the background. She breathes in and out, the refreshing feeling of being out here rather than cooped up inside some abandoned church overwhelming her. Then she looks down and smiles at the sight of other people walking by, their clothes so stylish and different from her own.

Chrollo stops resting and joins her in the balcony. "You like what you see?"

She nods, eyes still on the horizon. "Where are we?"

"We are in Lencasser, a small city in an effective country, on the far side of the continent," he answers. "It is rather known for its advanced architecture and sophisticated culture. We would do well to do our first business here." He steps back into the room and prepares the boxes that contain the Scarlet Eyes.

Not long after, a doorbell rings. Chrollo opens the door, only to see a bright smile from one of the hotel's servers. She pushes a cart inside the room, her smile ever directed at the raven-haired man, but her frown tugs upside down when Valtiel comes back from the balcony.

The server finishes her task and exits the room, but not without sparing a final glance at Chrollo. The Spider leader shuts the door in her beaming face and goes back to the table.

"Hungry?" He eases himself into a chair and offers food to the curious Kurta. He sips at his coffee, relieved to drink something hot after their nine-hour drive. His limbs are quite numb from all the sitting and driving, and his stomach is growling that he is almost impatient for a good meal. "Sit, Valtiel."

"What are these for?" She takes the chair opposite him and stares at the food laid out before her. There are some sort of bread and eggs, a lobster and shrimp in a fancy arrangement, a platter of greens and fruits, and a large tray for desserts.

"Are you not hungry?" he asks, halfway from snatching the seafood. "Because I am."

"I am hungry," she insists, and starts with the desserts.

They fall into a comfortable silence as they eat their fair share of the food. Valtiel eats everything she could reach, while Chrollo picks his food in dainty gestures with his small fork. Throughout the meal, he has somehow pulled out a book from somewhere to complete the ambiance. Only half an hour later did he remember something.

He sets his cup down. "I almost forgot," he says, rising from his chair. "I brought you something."

Valtiel watches from her seat as he pulls out another box from the stack of Scarlet Eyes. The box has a blue silk ribbon at the top, and he hands it to her with somewhat a proud smile. She raises her eyes to look at him, rather questioningly, while he gives her an expectant look. Sighing, she undoes the ribbon and pulls whatever is inside the box.

A black fabric unfurls itself, revealing a little black dress. She stares at the thing, then at Chrollo. Judging from his unceasing expectant look, she knows she has to make _something_ of the dress.

And so she does. "What is this for?"

His gaze never falters. "For you. For tonight. We are to meet our client tonight, remember? I took it a liberty to myself to provide you with the necessary garments for the event. You would find the dress suits you."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Ah. Thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

Chrollo returns sipping his coffee and reading the book he found in the church. In his peripheral vision, he observes how the young woman responds to his gift. He hides a growing smile behind his cup as Valtiel seems to compare the poor state of her yukata from the expensive dress, almost perfect to a fault.

At length, she turns to him. "Why do I need this? Can't I go there like I do now?"

He shakes his head and flips to another page. "Unfortunately, you cannot. You must change clothes."

She pats the dark yukata she wears, still very stubborn. "What's wrong with them? Nobunaga-san gave me this on the first day," she reminds him.

"Indeed," he agrees, "but if we want to convince our client, we must look the part."

Unable to comprehend his meaning about appearances, she studies him from head to toe, noting the jet-black pants and long-sleeve shirt he prefers to wear, with his raven hair hanging down to his chin. Then she checks herself and her yukata, black with purple floral patterns, and still wonders why she cannot go as she does now.

"You should get some rest." He checks the time on his mobile phone. It is almost five in the afternoon, more than enough time for rest and preparation. "We have at least four more hours."

* * *

At seven in the evening, he shakes her awake and starts preparing for their business. According to Chrollo, they are to meet with their client in his specified location at nine, allowing them more time to eat dinner in another fancy restaurant, bathe, and dress themselves according to the occasion.

Chrollo is adjusting his black tie over his inner white shirt. He has pulled out his black suit and the little black dress for Valtiel. He hears her struggle with something inside the bathroom, and after fastening the white bandages across his forehead to hide his tattoo, goes to her and knocks on the door.

"Val, do you need help with something? Anything?"

"Just give me a second!"

He stalks away and fixes the cufflinks that goes with his suit. For the umpteenth time that evening, he hears something crash inside. "Are you sure?" he says aloud.

Another thud, this time against the door. Then it opens. "I'm done."

Turning around, Chrollo pauses and drinks in the view of her: dressed in a black haltered dress, the skirts brushing inches above her knees, and with her platinum blonde hair wavy across her back, Valtiel looks like one of those glamourous ladies he sometimes sees in magazines, only that his female companion is struggling with her high heels and zipping the back of her dress.

"Troubles?"

"This zipper," she murmurs.

"Here. Let me." He steps behind her and zips the back. He turns her around and smooths the edges of the dress, tugging it down so that it fits at the right places, accentuating where her curves are. He taps his chin, purses his lips, and tucks her hair behind her ear. "I stole some diamond earrings. Wear them."

"Of course, Danchou." She stands before the mirror and fastens the earrings, which wink under the dim light in their room. "Why are we dressed like this anyway? Where are we going?"

"I would disclose the information on the way."

When he deems they are finished, Chrollo grabs the large box of Scarlet Eyes and offers a hand to Valtiel. He locks the door behind them, and then walks down the hallway with the young woman uncomfortable in her heels. He has his right hand guiding her balance, pressed at the small of her back. In the elevator, they fall into another silence that seems so familiar between them already.

The drive from the hotel across the bright streets of Lencasser is a wonder, at least to Valtiel. She barely notices the presence of her companion as she gazes in wonder at the headlights and billboards that plague every streets. Every woman in the sidewalks is dressed in fine, glittering dresses, more glamourous than the last. She blinks at their appearance and compares her own, their gold, glittery dresses to her black one.

Chrollo pulls the limousine in front of a large building with blinding lights. Guards in dark uniforms stop them from proceeding further. After a hushed conversation, the guard offers to park the limousine for them. Chrollo agrees, sliding the guard a thick wad of cash while appearing nonchalant about it. He takes Valtiel's hand and puts it on his forearm. He smiles at her confused reaction.

He leads them through an elaborate entrance and nods to another group of guards and bouncers. There is a long hallway that slopes downwards. Other guests start arriving, dressed in luxurious suits and dresses, the gems in their hair and around their necks very tempting for a leader of a group of thieves with A-class bounty.

"We are to pose as a couple," he whispers in her ear. He has the pleasure to see the blood in her face drain and go to her cheeks. He keeps his hold on her tight and firm. "More convincing and it does not raise too many unwanted questions."

"You think so?" She shoots him an unconvinced look, and he answers with a soft laugh. She digs her fingers into his arm when they enter the main room. "What exactly is this place?"

"An underground casino."

Valtiel gasps and disentangles herself from Chrollo. As in the balcony before, she puts both hands flat on the staircase railing and studies the sight of strange machines with blinking lights and booming noises dominate almost the entire field. There are more people here than there are out in the streets, and they all wear varying outfits that are so different from those she has seen thus far. Men in black suits like Chrollo are shouting and laughing, while women in long, flowing gowns demurely clink their wine glasses and raise their gloved hands for the uniformed waiters. Near the walls of the room, she notices, there are small rooms that are separated from the casino by clear glass walls.

She feels a strong arm snake around her waist and a warm breath in her ear.

"Our client is the younger brother of Lencasser's mayor, and one of the benefactors of this place," he explains, his gaze following hers. "According to my research, this is one of the few places where illegal transactions can take place without legal authorities interrupting them." He chuckles. "Being a younger brother to the mayor does have its benefits, no?"

"I guess so," she mutters, nodding. Then she points to the rooms. "What are those for?"

"Those are for the transactions," he says, "where we are supposed to meet our client. Come along now."

Arm-in-arm, the alleged couple for the evening descend the staircase. Some of the guests stop playing to glare at them. Two newcomers whose simple appearances compared to their own seems more at home than they are. The men particularly ogle at Valtiel, while the women are giggling behind their jeweled fans when Chrollo passes by them. The noise resumes once the pair reaches the back of the room.

Chrollo knows where to go. He leads his partner before her curiosity would get better of her. A man, taller than both of them, blocks their pathway and sneers down on them.

"Business?" The guard hisses at Chrollo.

"Yes. I am here for Mister Gareth. He sent for us."

"Ah. Mister Eleison, I presume?" The guard checks something from his timepiece and nods to another guard standing behind him. He turns back for the couple, narrowing his eyes at Valtiel. "Mister Gareth expects you, though the audience with someone so important is only for one person. You never mentioned anything about bringing a companion."

"Mister Gareth never mentioned anything otherwise," the Spider leader counters in a pleasant voice. "I took him for his word that we are to meet at the specified place and time, with the merchandise."

"Still, you are the only one allowed access," the guard reiterates. "The lady will have to wait outside."

"Surely, you would not let a beautiful lady wait on men?" Chrollo pursues.

"Believe me." The guard jabs a fat finger on Chrollo's chest. "I will."

The atmosphere between the two men darkens as Chrollo starts glaring at the stubborn guard. Valtiel nips at her bottom lip and tugs at Chrollo's forearm, earning his attention and he gazes down on her, his eyebrows furrowed at her interruption. She communicates with him through her eyes, boring through his dark ones until he finally gets her meaning and chuckles in reply. To cement their act as a couple, he presses his lips lightly against her hair and faces the guard once more.

"Very well," he says with a sigh. "I shall meet with Mister Gareth alone. My companion would have to wait outside for me. Would that be agreeable now?"

"Yes, Mister Eleison." The guard frowns at Valtiel.

"I shall be back shortly," Chrollo whispers in her ear, more cautious now that he has to leave her alone. The beaming expression in her face is enough to make him on the edge. Without his watchful eyes on her, he has no idea what she might do in a place so foreign to her, especially to a sheltered Kurta. "I will make this transaction as quick as possible. Under ten minutes, if I can. Promise me you would not get into trouble."

She grins at him.

He is not convinced. "Promise me, Val."

"Yes, yes, Danchou." She waves him away, and the guard steps forward to intervene. She beams at him as he ushers Chrollo into one of the rooms.

When the glass door shuts in Chrollo's handsome yet frowning face, she smiles back at him and turns to explore the casino.

Chrollo lets out a long sigh, before composing himself to assume the identity of a confident businessman. The room is small and narrow, with only a set of couch and a round table in the middle. The walls of the room are made of glass, and he assumes they are thick enough to withstand bullets. He sets the box of Scarlet Eyes on the table and waits for his client, his fingers laced together while his mind racks about all the things Valtiel could do without his supervision.

The glass door opens and a tall young man enters. He smiles at the sight of Chrollo and reaches out to shake hands with him. His brown hair falls to his shoulders, and his eyes are blue and bright.

"Mister Eleison, welcome!" Gareth sits across the other man. His own blue eyes observe the other, seemingly finding faults to Chrollo's otherwise flawless appearance. He leans back against the cushioned seat and sprawls his arms across the backrest. "To be honest, I was expecting an old businessman. Some sort of a wizened crone, perhaps?"

"I might have given you that impression when we were talking," Chrollo replies, chuckling to humor his client. He stares at the man and gauges his character. "Though I hope I do not disappoint?"

"Not at all!" Gareth laughs aloud. "We are here for business. But two men talking over nothing is boring, wouldn't you say? We should have company!" And he snaps his fingers for his guards, and two seconds later, there comes two women in red skintight dresses sauntering inside. One approaches Gareth, while the other attempts to slide next to Chrollo.

"Ah, excuse me." Chrollo holds up his hand to stop her. She blinks and turns at her employer for answers.

"You do not partake, Mister Eleison?" Gareth muses, wrapping an arm around his woman's shoulders.

"No, I do not."

"May I know why?" The second woman crosses the room and sits on Gareth's other side, and his other arm stretches out across her shoulders, holding both women against him. He crosses his legs over the other, leans back again so that his brown hair does not cover his grinning face. So far, Chrollo is unimpressed.

"I would rather not partake in anything I am against," Chrollo answers evasively.

Gareth catches the implication and gleams. "So there's a lady then," he concludes. He removes his arms around the women and rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. "Did you bring her here?"

Chrollo's jaw tightens, but he answers, "Yes, though I brought her here for business."

"Business." Gareth laughs and nods, as if he has forgotten the reason why they are meeting in the first place. He gestures with his hands to the box. "By all means, please proceed, Mister Eleison."

"Thank you." And Chrollo means that. He has no time to waste entertaining women and the idea of talking about women. He is a busy man, one way or the other, and the fact that he has a curious Kurta on the loose only makes matters worse. He unlaces the ribbons and opens the box, pulling out three canisters of Scarlet Eyes for Gareth and his harem to see.

Under the bright fluorescent light, the Scarlet Eyes shine a brighter shade of red, so different from reddish glows from the darkened church a few days before. Gareth sits on the edge of his couch, bringing his face closer to the eyes, mesmerized by the way it floats and glimmers. Even Chrollo himself is mesmerized, never having seen them in a well-lighted room.

Gareth takes one canister and holds it up for his women. "See how beautiful they are?"

"What are they?" one of them asks, giggling.

"They are Scarlet Eyes," Gareth says.

"What _are_ Scarlet Eyes?" the second one asks.

"Mister Eleison can explain for us," Gareth says, discarding the canister back to the table.

"The Scarlet Eyes are exclusive for the Kurta Clan, which is now an extinct group of reclusive people. They hide deep within forests and mountains to hide their eyes. The brilliant scarlet hue is considered one of the most beautiful colors in the world," Chrollo states by heart, having read these descriptions months before the Phantom Troupe even had the vaguest idea where the clan lived.

"Oh! They _are_ beautiful," the first woman gushes.

Gareth chuckles indulgently, tracing his thumb on the woman's bottom lip. His blue eyes are glued to his thumb's movements as he asks, "How much again for these, Mister Eleison?"

"One billion for each pair. You asked for three pairs, then three billion."

"That sounds too expensive for some pair of eyes, don't you think?" Gareth croons.

"I had thought three billion would be nothing for a mayor's brother," Chrollo shoots back, the soft tone in his voice never raising. He leans back on the couch and smiles. It seems his statement has touched a nerve.

"Indeed," Gareth says grimly. He glares at the glass canister and taps his foot on the table.

The table rattles from the force and one of the canisters rolls and smashes to the floor, sending an explosion of water and shards everywhere. The Scarlet Eyes roll across the floor, setting their sightless irises up towards the ceiling.

"Oops." The brown-haired young man sniggers, and his women giggle with him.

It takes a breadth of patience for Chrollo not to flare up.

Gareth grins at the other man's set jaw and continues crooning. "How about that, Mister Eleison? One of them broke. This pair is practically useless. I do hope the price lowers now, hm?"

Chrollo tears his eyes from the wasted treasures to meet Gareth's arrogant smirk. "No," the Spider leader says in a firm tone. "Nothing changes. We have come to a conclusion last night. I merely stopped by to deliver the merchandise. Scarlet Eyes are a rare commodity. The price is set. Whatever you do with them afterwards means nothing to me."

"Is that so?" Gareth murmurs under his breath. His gaze drops to the floor, to the upturned Scarlet Eyes.

With a frown, he smashes his boot against one eye after the other, finding it hilarious to see the eyes turn into a white gooey substance. He grins back at Chrollo. "Whatever I do with them means nothing to you, is that right, my friend?"

"Yes," Chrollo confirms. "And that would be three billion Jenny."

"Perhaps I am not making myself clear," Gareth hisses, his patience wearing thin.

"I thought everything was already clear beforehand."

"Apparently, they are not!"

"No?" The Spider leader tilts his head to the side. "I wonder why."

The guard from before knocks on the glass door and enters the room to interrupt. "Sir?"

Gareth slams both hands on the table, rattling it again, though the two remaining canisters remain sturdy. With another hiss, he whips his head towards the guard. "What now?!"

Shifting uncomfortably, the guard points a thumb over his shoulder. "Miss Eleison is waiting outside."

 _No_. Chrollo's mind screams as his sight follows where the guard is pointing. _No, Valtiel, don't._

To his utmost dismay, his Kurta stands on the other side of the room. She stands with her hands clasped in front of her, while her attention continues to observe around her. Then, as if sensing his gaze, she turns around and her golden eyes find him. Her lips spread into a bright, satisfied smile; and Chrollo guesses that her explorations are over, and that her curiosity is quenched.

Then Chrollo glances sideways at Gareth; the other man ogles at Valtiel like a thirsty vulture, blue eyes wandering from head to toe and back again. When Valtiel notices his intense staring, and Chrollo watches the silent communication between them, she merely turns away from Gareth and waits for the Spider leader to meet her outside.

Gareth stops him before he could stand. "Is that Miss Eleison?"

Chrollo's jaw tightens. "Yes."

"Why would you leave such a pretty sight waiting for us outside? What idiot thought about that?" Gareth demands in a teasing voice, and the guard sweats and laughs nervously. He glances at Valtiel again, then turns to the raven-haired man. "You bring her inside and we can discuss your three billion, Mister Eleison."

"I am afraid she stays outside," Chrollo answers quickly. "She has no hand in this transaction. If you do think that letting her wait is disappointing, then perhaps we should settle the matter now."

"Oh, I get it." Gareth winks at him. "Oh, very well, Mister Eleison. I understand we already came into an agreement−sort of−last night. But how about we make some adjustments, no? Here's the deal: I give you your three billion Jenny in cash, and then I will give you _another_ five hundred million for one night with Miss Eleison."

"That is not negotiable, Mister Gareth."

"Come, come now! Don't be such a prude! A smart businessman knows when to take advantage of a situation. Does 3.5 billion not interest you? Or is she too expensive?"

"She is not a commodity."

"Everyone and everything is a commodity!" Gareth laughs, winking at the two women by his sides.

Normally, and as a thief, Chrollo might have agreed. Yet this conversation has dragged on longer than what should have been a quick transaction, and his client's attitude towards everything is something he did not take into account. Somehow, Gareth makes even the worst Troupe members look like behaved little children.

"Three billion for the Scarlet Eyes," Chrollo repeats. "No more, no less."

"Three billion for the Scarlet Eyes, of course." Gareth smirks. "And one million for my hand up Miss Eleison's skirt. Just for a minute. Let me feel _something_. How about it?"

"Let me make it clear for you, Mister Gareth." Chrollo leans toward the table and rests both arms on the surface. He keeps his smile present. "Three billion for the Scarlet Eyes _and_ five million for the disrespect for the lady. How about it?"

"No can do, Mister Eleison."

"Then we push through to our original agreement."

Gareth purses his lips, keeping his gaze locked on the man. Growling, he glances at Valtiel's direction and again finds her still waiting. Anxiety leads him to tap his foot on the gooey remains of the Scarlet Eyes. He glares at Chrollo, as if somehow that would ease things between them. "Are you sure about those terms?"

Chrollo's face is a cold mask. "Do we have those terms, Mister Gareth?"

Begrudgingly, the brown-haired man snaps his fingers and the guard comes forward with a mobile device. Gareth starts typing something and shows it to Chrollo.

"Congratulations on your three billion, Mister Eleison," Gareth says through gritted teeth.

"Thank you. Enjoy your Scarlet Eyes, Mister Gareth." Chrollo heads for the door. He narrows his eyes at the guard holding the door open for him.

As he steps out of the glass room, his companion meets him with a smile. He finds a smile for her as well, relieved to the bone that his torturous encounter with the spoiled brat is finished. It feels as if he has spent hours suffering the young man. At least he and Valtiel could leave now−with their money, no less.

Valtiel comes up to him with a satisfied smile. "How did it go?"

"Wonderful," Chrollo replies with a smirk. He looks over his shoulder and sees Gareth still glaring at them from the other side of the glass wall. He puts a hand on Valtiel's elbow and leads her away. "Come. Let's head back. It is late already."

"Did he buy the Scarlet Eyes?"

"Oh, yes. It was a hard-fought treasure for him."

"He doesn't seem happy about it," she points out, looking back at the sulking young man on the couch. His guards gather around him, and she feels a slight shudder run down her spine. She peeps up at the Spider leader. "Did something bad happen?"

He shakes his head, dark bangs falling across dark eyes. "Nothing that you should worry about."

They exit the casino and ascend the hallway that leads to the lobby. More guards appear to gather at the entrance doors, checking at all the guests streaming in and out of the building. Before they could truly exit the place, Valtiel tugs at Chrollo's sleeve, which prompts him to stop with her.

"What now?"

"I need to pee," she mumbles softly, averting her gaze.

"What?"

"I need to pee." Her eyelashes flutter when she peeps at him again. "Danchou."

"Can this not wait until we return to the hotel?"

She gives him a hard look. "Do you want me to pee in the car?"

With a suspicious glance around them, he sighs as a form of his consent. He checks his watch and nods to her. "Five minutes," he says tersely. "If you're not here within five minutes, I am going after you."

She beams at him and dashes off to the nearby restroom.

Valtiel follows where the hallway curves, leading her deeper into the building. Her heels keep clacking noisily against the marbled floors, and it takes such an effort to walk without scraping them. However, her heels are not the only ones resonating in the hallway. She turns to a corner and peeks behind her. A large uniformed guard trudges after her, his hands occupied by a long gun.

She quickens her pace and enters the women's restroom. She locks the door behind her, but as she turns around, she realizes that she is not alone.

About four more guards surround her, their black suits matching her black dress. The first guard following her bangs his fist against the door, and she gasps in surprise, pressing her back as if it could stop him from breaking down the door.

"Miss Eleison, right?" A voice echoes from the other side of the restroom. A second door opens from across her, and a young brown-haired man enters with a smirk. He winks, hoping to fluster her even further. "How are you doing, Miss Eleison?"

"Eleison?" She blinks at him.

"Oh, I am sorry." Gareth feigns a surprised reaction. "Did I assume that you are with Mister Eleison? I was so sure you came here with him. He was so very possessive of you back there."

"Elei−what?" Valtiel shakes her head. She measures his haughty smile and wonders aloud. "I don't understand. Are you not here for the Scarlet Eyes?"

"What are you talking about?" Gareth chuckles as he closes the distance between them. He puts a hand on the door next to her head and leans closer, trapping her against the door while his guards are watching.

"You looked so disappointed after your meeting with Danchou," she points out, unimpressed with his tactics. She raises her chin to meet his gaze with her own.

He realizes that he enjoys her fearless attitude. With a lick across his lips, his free hand starts to reach out for her. It starts from below, fingertips brushing against her knees, then to the hem of her skirt, creeping underneath the fabric. His grin widens when he feels the warmth of her skin. His hand trails ever upwards, tracing a long line across her skin and then−

A hand rips out from his chest, splattering blood between him and Valtiel. Gareth chokes back a cry, and the blood from his mouth bubbles in his attempt to shout. His blue eyes, wide with fear and confusion, darken until his body cannot support his weight any longer and falls back to the ground.

Chrollo stands behind the body, wearing a deadly expression in his hard face. He pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and cleans the blood from his hand and forearm. "I thought I said five minutes."

"It was not even five minutes yet," Valtiel talks back.

"Either way, you are late." He frowns, deep and foreboding. "And you are not supposed to entertain someone else while we are on a mission. Why are you with these people?"

"I thought they wanted to talk," she says, shrugging. She walks over Gareth's body and inspects the restroom. The bodyguards are all dead, their heads twisted from their shoulders in grotesque angles. She falls silent. She never even saw Chrollo coming when he attacked Gareth. And now _this_.

"From now on, you do not leave my sight," the Spider leader rules and starts heading back. Then he double takes, pausing, and snatches something from behind a dead guard.

She tiptoes next to him, now a bit afraid to incense him further. "What's that?"

He chuckles to himself. "Gareth, what a fool," he says. In his hands, he lifts the two canisters that contain the Scarlet Eyes. He tucks them in his bloodied arm and offers the other to Valtiel. "You did well, Val."

"I did?"

"Yes. Now, let's head back."

Inside the car, they once again fall into the comfortable silence. Valtiel has the canisters nestled in her lap, while her attention is glued to the streetlights and street performers in the sidewalks. Chrollo glances at her and notices how her eyes droop in sleepiness.

"Did you get to explore the casino?" he asks out of blue.

"Oh, yes." She yawns.

"And how was it?"

"It was… wonderful," she murmurs and falls asleep.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Here's Team Chrollo-Valtiel doing their first mission. Loved writing this one, to be honest. Val's so chill while Chrollo worries and takes care of everything. Such a gentleman. LOL. Also, sorry for the rather late update! It was my birthday on November 2nd and got wound up with some family dinner! I'm 22 years old now. Oof. So old!

* **steph557** \- Oh, thank you! The story takes place five years before the Hunter Exam, and Hisoka won't be joining until next year, so that's still quite faraway.

* **xenocanaan** -Thank you again for the review! With Val being independent, I wonder how Chrollo would take it. Haha.

* **polarsky** \- Things will certainly get juicier when Chrollo wants from "alone time" with Val. XD Feitan is also very precious. That little ball of anger and bad grammar is one of my babies form the series. And thank you for the concern! I'll try to take more care of myself this time! 😘

* **AwkwardBlackCat** \- Maybe hairstylist Nobu will make a comeback? And Omokage being "mildly concerning" made me laugh aloud! He's definitely one of the creepier ones in the Troupe. Thank goodness Feitan has Val's back covered! Yes, Chrollo, being the manipulative little bastard that he is, would take his time dissecting little Val for his curiosities. A gentleman indeed. 😉

Okie dokie! That's it for this week! Thank you for reading and please leave reviews! 💕


	8. Chapter VIII

**Chapter VIII**

* * *

Chrollo watches his Kurta from the corner of his eyes. He makes himself appear uncaring of her movements, but in truth, he is very much interested to watch her that, oftentimes, the book in his hands goes forgotten. With her back turned to him like this, he puts his book aside, rests his chin on his palm, and watches her.

It has been two weeks since the underground casino in Lencasser. Since then, the two of them have been driving from one small town to another, finally reaching the other side of the country within three days. Now, they are staying in a cheap hotel in a seaside town, the calls of the gulls and the rhythm of the waves a constant companion to their usually quiet afternoon.

Valtiel sits on the window ledge, her attention forever on the passing people and cars and birds, perking up whenever something or someone gets too close to her window. She places a hand flat on the glass as she peers forward, noting every little detail that her untrained mind is still unaccustomed with. Sometimes, she asks Chrollo questions, and sometimes, she wonders to herself about the foreign world she never seems to know or remember.

Her memories come in dark blurry images in her mind. Most of them confusing and downright frustrating, she spends nights awake and staring at the ceiling. Chrollo's quiet page flipping does its wonders, lulling her to sleep more often than not.

Sensing his gaze on her back, she looks over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow questioningly at him.

Chrollo rises from the bed. He has been there since early morning, perched on his side of the bed and reading to his heart's content. He joins her by the window and rests his forearm against the glass.

Looking outside, he notices the narrow, winding streets and the people strolling with baskets of seafood in their hands. This is a sight and ambiance he could get used to−something peaceful and domestic−but there is nothing peaceful and domestic for the leader of the Phantom Troupe. Never.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, looking down on her. It is half past three in the afternoon, and he mentally scolds himself for missing lunch for both of them.

"A little," she answers with a shrug. "Do we get to go outside, Danchou?"

"Of course." He gives an indulgent smile and pushes himself off the window. "Get dressed," he adds as he crosses the small room and grabs his black jacket.

The world outside their hotel room is a landscape of small houses, each with colorful paints and awnings over wooden stalls. The streets are none too heavy, only plagued by the few merchants and fishermen the little town could afford to have and pay. A mixture of fish scent and salty ocean lingers heavily in the air.

None of those is a concern to Chrollo and Valtiel as they leave the hotel, their arms intertwined. In their two long weeks together, Chrollo has learned that keeping both eyes and hands on the Kurta is the only way for her not to get lost in a crowd. He keeps her hand tucked in the crook of his arm, while his other hand is in his pocket, ready to seize whatever form of money or jewelry he could reach.

It is only a short walk to the café he spotted on the first day. The place is small and cozy, its wooden walls adorned with paintings of the seaside scenery and sunsets. The servers inside welcome the pair with feigned enthusiasm. They judge them both from their clothes, comparing the young man's dark shirt and sleeves to his partner's white blouse and dark blue skirts.

Chrollo ignores their staring and looks up at the menu written in swirling calligraphies. "Anything you want?"

She clamps her mouth shut, though her eyes are roaming around the deli cases inside.

He scoffs at her stubbornness. "Don't worry. I am going to pay real money this time."

She looks at him closer, trying to find the lie in his face.

"Really, Valtiel." He sighs, exasperated. "Is there anything you want? You are free to choose."

"Very well, then." She lets her eyes roam again, noting every careful details on top of the cakes, muffins, and pies. Most of them have strange patterns, topped with a mixture of strange fruits and trimmed with white puff creams. She wrinkles her nose at each of them, and then notices one that appeals to her. "That one, I like that one," she says, pointing to the cake.

He doesn't hesitate. He turns to the cashier and smiles. "We would like to have two slices of that cake, some caramel pudding, and coffee. Would that be all right, darling?" He directs his smile to Valtiel, who raises her eyebrow while pointing at herself.

The female cashier interrupts them. "Would there be anything else, sir?"

He shakes his head and pays for their food using a card. He whisks his companion away from the cashier and picks a table in the balcony, which allows them better view of the surroundings. Like a gentleman, he guides her to sit and smiles all the way as he sinks into his own chair from across her.

Valtiel twirls the credit card between her fingers, her golden eyes boring through his dark ones. She glares as she reads the name aloud: "Alvan Derwood, huh?"

The Spider leader has the grace to smile. "The businessman we passed by in the corner," he says without much care. "I did say I am going to pay for our food, did I not?"

She flings the card at his face and he grabs it without effort. "Very clever."

"Don't fret. You will learn my crafts in due time," he says teasingly, propping his chin against his palm. "As for now, I need you to be agreeable and obedient, and not questioning my actions and decisions. It would cost us too much energy and time for nonsensical arguments. You are part of the Spider, so you cannot act like stealing is too low for you."

"But it is," she shoots back, leaning closer to the table. "Or, at least I think it is." Her voice quavers, and her eyes go down to her fingers, doing anything to avoid his intense gaze. "Did I steal things before? Or, I don't know, hurt and killed people like you do?"

"N-No…" he answers. The surprise of her question knocks some smugness out of him. He stops smirking and leans back to his chair, his jaw set and hard. He knows he has to lie from the moment he found her, until the moment either one of them dies or she starts remembering. His resolve is solid, his lies polished to perfection. "You are a Spider," he says firmly, "but you always have different ideals."

 _This is better_ , he thinks to himself, watching her face. _She is soothed._

A server arriving with their order saves him from more questions. He nods at the server, ignoring her seductive smile as she leans forward, her breasts pressed atop her tight blouse, trying to entice him with her exposed skin and plump red lips.

Chrollo snorts, fighting the urge to roll his eyes, and tries to catch Valtiel's attention instead, hoping she would see through this pathetic attempt at seducing him. To his dismay, the Kurta is much too engrossed in her cake, too excited to even glance at his direction.

He waves the server away, and she leaves with a frown.

He sips at his coffee and enjoys the silence that falls between them. He wants to think it is because his lie is perfect, but a small part of him also knows that it is only because Valtiel is busy munching on her cake, the crumbs gathering on the corners of her mouth.

"You like chocolate," he observes, saying the words to himself.

She hears him, stops, and nods. "Um, yes, it's very yummy."

He closes his eyes at the childish term. _Yummy−who says that these days?_

"Are you going to eat yours?"

"What?" He snaps his eyes open again and finds her platter empty. _Done already?_

"I was hungry," she says in her defense, licking at her fingers. She is too engrossed to notice the Spider head glaring at her bad manners. She keeps licking until the chocolate icing is gone, and then wipes her fingers off on her blue skirts.

 _She's just as bad as Uvogin_. Chrollo caresses the bridge of his nose and heaves a deep breath. "All right. You can have my share, but please don't lick your fingers in public. It is unsanitary and unbecoming of a young lady such as yourself."

Valtiel only smiles. "Does that mean I can have yours?"

He pushes the plate towards her. "Yes, it does."

After their late lunch, the pair walks down the streets to entertain themselves. Well, it is more for Valtiel's convenience, since the raven-haired man beside her is only there to keep her from straying too far. The sea stretches as far as they could see, and the several boats docked on the pier bright with their red, yellow, and blue paints. Few children run past them with curiosity in their eyes, studying the two foreigners−one who looks around herself as if the world is fascinating, and one who seems would rather be inside the house and sleep.

Valtiel leads the way around the unfamiliar town, stopping every once in a while if someone happens to catch her attention. Then she would tug at Chrollo's hand and lead him there, and he would follow, powerless to stop her raging curiosity over every little thing.

When she leads him to an antique bookstore, he stops sulking and his features light up.

A bell dings as they enter, Chrollo opening the door like the gentleman he is. The bookstore is grey and dusty, cobwebs thicker than any Chrollo has seen in his life. The windows are thick with dust and stains combined, and the shelves, he also observes, are in no better condition. An old man stands on the counter across the room, tinkering with an ancient clock.

"Feel free to look around," the man says without raising his eyes off his work. A cigar burns between his lips, dark from the years of smoking. "It's been a while since someone dropped by."

"You are still selling these books?" Chrollo questions. His gaze drifts to every corner of the place. There are only few books left in the shelves, and if there are, they are in a poor condition. In his peripheral vision, the Kurta slips towards the back of the store, away from his close watch.

"To anyone who wants them, yes."

"Then you wouldn't mind if we look around."

"Knock yourself out, boy."

Chrollo lets the insult pass, and plunges himself in the dimness of the store. He mourns the sad state of the books, yellowed pages with hardbound covers ready to come apart at the slightest touch. He checks whatever seems to be in good condition; some are written in a language he cannot understand, others are epic tales of ancient warfare, strategies, and rare others about myths, fairytales, and even a machinery guidebook. He basks in the words, allowing himself to get lost in them. He has in mind to pocket a few of them and stuff them in his jacket.

He moves on towards the next shelf and notices that Valtiel is standing on the other side. Smiling, he removes the thick book that separates them, and Valtiel blinks at him, then smiles.

"Found something you like?" he asks, leaning closer to the shelf.

"I think so," she murmurs. "And you?"

"Several already," he returns with a pointed smirk. "Shall we make our escape now?"

The look she gives him is hard and filled with disappointment. Two weeks spent with Chrollo Lucilfer has taught her that nothing can escape the man's quick hand. Though, even as he steals, she has also learned that he does not steal unless they need it−his new books, the new limousine, the food on their table, and even the clothes they wear. He steals, but nothing too unnecessary.

He purses his lips at her reaction. "Your book," he says instead, "may I see it?"

Reluctantly, she passes her book over the shelf. Her golden eyes turn elsewhere. She does not want to see the look on his face when he finds out what she wants; he is such a professional in anything literary that her simple choice of one might be too easy _and_ embarrassing for him. Ever since the Troupe dispersed, she has not read many books and that makes her wonder if she read books at all before the loss of her memories.

A hum escapes Chrollo's lips. One finger to his chin, he seems drawn to her book.

"This is interesting," he says at length, passing the book back to her. "Take it home."

"You mean steal it?"

"Whatever comforts your fragile pride, Val."

She turns away from him and his smile, knowing the tease and the vehemence masked behind. She might have lost her previous memories, but the memory of Gareth with his chest ripped apart and of Chrollo acting nonchalant about killing him haunts her for days on end. That, and the constant frustrating visions that she gets every night are enough to make her feel on the edge. She walks away from Chrollo as if she could escape him, as if she could find her memories by herself. Yet she knows she needs him. She is part of the Spider, they are her family, they are her only sanctuary and home.

As she moves away, Chrollo follows suit, his dark eyes boring through her. They move in unison until they meet at the end of the shelf, purposely bumping onto each other−Valtiel trying to shake him off while Chrollo blocks her pathway with his larger build. She hits her face on his chest and she looks up, glaring.

"Oh, look," comes his nonchalant voice as he reaches for something behind her. He holds up a black book with a grotesque imagery at the front. A small smile crosses his lips. "Feitan likes his works."

"What?" Brows furrowed, she turns her attention to the said book.

"Take this one, too," he says brusquely, shoving the book to her hands.

Then, without an explanation, he wraps an arm around her shoulders and whisks her out of the bookstore, barely glancing at the old man and his clock in the counter. He leads her back out into the quiet streets, feels her squirm against his firm hold. With a chuckle, he releases his hold on her and puts both hands in his pockets. He blocks her pathway again and peers on her face.

She frowns at the books in her hands. When Chrollo opens his jacket to boast the other books he grabbed, her frown deepens and her eyes darken ever so slightly at him.

"You are a Spider," he repeats his mantra. "This is what we do." And he strides off, letting the gentle breeze stir his raven hair. He knows well enough that despite her misgivings, she would always follow behind him. In a world that seems so unfamiliar to her, following after him is only the option she has.

"Are we heading back?"

"Do you want to?"

"No." She shakes her head. "Can we go somewhere else?"

"As you wish." He is not loath to spoil her, if it means advancing his observations of her. He enjoys her company thus far, despite the little arguments here and there. Again, he tucks her hand in his arm and crosses the road with her, guiding her along the streets that lead uptown.

They pass several buildings and shops, though none of them is interested in entering the shops. They have had enough for today, Chrollo with his stolen books and Valtiel with the man's thieving. Instead, the pair falls into another wave of silence, both seemingly prepared to ignore each other until the end of the day.

Without warning, Chrollo stops walking, his abrupt halt and firmness of grip on Valtiel's hand sending a quick chain of reaction: Valtiel stumbles from the abrupt stop, tripping on her low heels, and flies backwards toward the Spider leader. Chrollo, not ecstatic to damage his Kurta treasure, moves forward to catch her as she falls, but she grabs on to his shoulder instead, the sudden movements banging their foreheads together. While Chrollo feels nothing, the young woman moans at the pain.

She hisses under her breath. "Danchou! What the f−"

He clicks his tongue. "Language, young lady."

" _Flipping_ pancakes," she finishes with a grumble, and straightens herself again. The Spider leader helps her recover by smoothing out her blouse and skirts, tucking a lock of her platinum blonde hair gone astray from her poor ponytail. "Why did you stop so suddenly?"

" _More importantly_ , where did you learn such obscenity?"

Her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She feels like a child caught red-handed and plays with her fingers. When she peeps at him under her lashes, he is still staring and waiting for an answer. "I heard it from someone before," she mumbles.

He tips his head to the side. "Who?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters."

"Just someone from the television." A shrug. It sends a mental signal to the man not to let her watch on her own again. She sighs. "So, why did you stop?"

It is his turn to shrug. "I found something. Come."

Chrollo takes her hand again and they cross another road. They stop before a massive structure with glass windows, ceilings and even columns, refracting the late afternoon sun in thousands of mesmerizing arrays. A crowd gathers at the front of a large poster, and the pair shoulders their way to the front.

Valtiel raises her brow, unable to make something of the poster. "So?"

Dark eyes continue reading the words, until Chrollo has memorized them. "It seems there would be an evening gala tonight, in celebration for the museum's latest masterpieces. We could take a look tonight, see what they are so proud of bragging in front of the public."

She is not impressed. Nothing about him and his thievery impress her. She snatches her hand from his and walks away, bumping onto several people. Whenever she moves, she knows Chrollo is not too far behind. They know each other that much, even without the words.

A hand presses itself on the small of her back−gentle, reassuring. She raises her eyes and meets his gaze. She reads something behind his intense dark eyes, and knows well enough what he wants.

He wants to go home. And she follows, like she always does.

* * *

As always, despite her misgivings, Valtiel prepares for the gala. She wears a white lace evening gown with flimsy straps over the shoulders, the backless design reaching down and exposing her spine, and it takes her a moment not to shiver. Her platinum blonde hair is pulled up into a bun, pulled away from her face by a diamond hairpin. She glares at herself before the mirror, half-exasperated and half-annoyed that she has to do this again.

The bathroom door opens, and she turns toward it. Her golden eyes drink in the sight of Chrollo, handsome and elegant in his black suit ensemble and tie. What catches her attention the most is his hair: dark as ebony and slicked back from his head as if proud to show the cross tattoo on his forehead. He smirks at her as he catches her staring, and she snorts.

"You look stunning," he says, nodding to her white gown.

"And you look strange," she counters, still eyeing his hair and tattoo.

"You do not like it? I had thought it would look refreshing."

"For you."

He chooses to ignore the slight edge in her voice and approaches her instead. He fixes her elaborate bun and admires the way the diamond blinks when it catches the light. The tips of his fingers brush her cheeks, his thumb sweeping under her eye, reminiscing the night when they glowed scarlet so brilliantly and angrily. He sighs then, withdrawing his hand, and finishes his preparation for the event.

En route to the museum, he hails a taxi. The night in a seaside town is cold and clammy, still accompanied by the relaxing sounds of waves and boats bumping against each other. Arriving at the museum, people of all classes and cultures start to crowd the place. Chrollo pays the driver his fee−real money, if he can add−and sees the relieved look in his partner's face.

The entrance to the museum is blocked by two armed service men. One of them checks the invitation while the other pats the guests from head to toe.

Chrollo narrows his eyes and momentarily disappears behind a clump of trees, leaving the Kurta standing alone and anxious. When he returns, he does so with a confident smile playing along his lips. He offers the first guard their invitation.

The guard squints his slant eyes at them. "Mister and Miss…?"

Chrollo smiles his usual pleasant smile. "Vermigli," he says.

"Ah, of course." The guard returns their invitation and gestures for his partner to start checking them.

The second guard comes forward and pats Chrollo on the shoulders and around the waist. Then he turns for Valtiel, pauses to double-check her overall appearance, and reaches out for her.

Chrollo grabs his outstretched arm. "That won't be necessary. I would ask you politely to keep your hands off my wife."

With a glance at the first guard, the second snatches his arm from the raven-haired man and nods, stepping back so they could enter. He does not stop glaring until the pair enters through a long hallway, very well out of his sight.

Now that they are out of guards' earshot, Valtiel opens her mouth to speak, to voice against the Spider head's former statement, but gets cut off with a quick "Don't even think about it" from the man himself. She clamps her mouth shut then, swallowing whatever question and argument she has in mind about being referred to as his wife, when they could have gone as a simple couple as they had in Lencasser before. Perhaps the Danchou is in no mood for another debate, since his attention seems much focused on the task up ahead. She understands that part at least; there is no need for a debate now. Later, perhaps, when they return to their hotel.

The gala takes place in an open space behind the museum. The glass ceilings are gone, replaced by the endless stretch of midnight blue skies and silver stars. The garden is wide and packed with guests seated on glass tables and chairs. At the head of the garden, there is a raised platform with a humongous flat screen behind, the screen displaying collages of the museum's newly acquired paintings.

Chrollo chooses the table in the far corner. He only needs the basic information about the paintings. Locating them would be easy afterwards. He directs his attention to his companion, whose golden eyes are roaming the place, from the flat screen to the waiters offering drinks and desserts.

"Enjoying yourself?" He accepts a wine from the waiter and handpicks a small platter of chocolate mousse from his tray. When she turns back to him to answer, her mouth gapes at the sight of the dessert. He expects just as much a reaction, and offers it to her. "You know, you could use some good manners."

"But why?" She shoves a spoonful of the chocolate and closes her eyes at the yummy goodness. She hears another low chuckle rumbling from the Danchou's throat.

"A young lady such as yourself?" He leans back against his seat and raises his glass to her. "Why not?"

The gala starts with an inspiring speech from the museum's directress. She is an older woman with coiffed blonde hair streaked with grey. After her speech, to which the guests start applauding, an elderly curator takes the stage and explains the nature of the new set of paintings. According to him, the paintings showcase parts of an ancient Bible from a culture long since forgotten by time. Chrollo listens with his full heart, while his companion drowns herself with the chocolate mousses and keeps asking for more.

The curator then boasts five paintings, depicting a red, large seven-headed dragon that is believed to consume the world at the end of time. Intrigued and enchanted, Chrollo could not keep his eyes off the pictures on the flat screen, showing the paintings one-by-one.

At the end of the presentation, a small tribal group ascends the stage and performs a dancing ritual considered sacred to their culture. But since their culture is all but forgotten as well, the curator explains that the tribe now performs in the streets to earn money to live.

Chrollo barely touches his food afterwards. The anticipation rises in him, his fingers itching to touch and hold the painting for his trained eyes to judge. A seven-headed dragon, destined to consume the world−how does that not entice him so? He wills himself to calm and looks across the table, for Valtiel.

Already full from the desserts, she watches the performance now, gasping and clapping when the tribesmen spout flames from their mouths and into the midnight skies. Her eyes catch the glow of the flames, the scarlet and the golden mixing together so well.

More presentations come after, although most of them are minor sculptures and jars that Chrollo could care less. He takes his time observing their surroundings, noting every point of entrance and exit, the number of the guards and their weapons, the strange behavior of some guests. One particular guest grabs his attention: dressed in a dark blue blazer and red tie, the man glances at him and Valtiel every so often. Chrollo cannot tell whether the man is cautious of him or is only checking at Valtiel. He would vote the former, considering how anxious the other man appears.

The gala ends an hour before midnight. Slowly, the packed garden starts to empty, leaving only the waiters and janitors to finish their jobs. Chrollo and Valtiel stay behind in their seats, waiting for everyone to leave, waiting for the anxious stranger to make the first move.

Finally, he does.

"Time to go," Chrollo whispers in Valtiel's ear as he takes her hand and leads her out of the garden. He keeps his sight on the man, his steps quiet and even against the marbled floor. Like a predator, he basks at the sight of his prey squirming and sweating, no doubt aware of what might happen to him if he chooses the wrong move.

"Where to?"

"Wherever he goes, I am sure he leads us to the treasures."

Pale as a sick dog, the man hurries towards a corner and races down a long flight of steps.

An explosion sounds from below. Chrollo and Valtiel break into a run after him, though when they turn a corner, they find the guards stationed at the treasure room dead and burned, their black skin sizzling and smoking. Valtiel covers her nose from the stench, while the Spider head forces the metal door open with one powerful punch on the lock.

The door gives way, creaking as it opens to reveal a large sealed room filled with the original paintings, relics, and other treasures shown in the presentation before. The pair enters the room, Chrollo three steps ahead of Valtiel, shielding her from whatever is waiting for them inside.

Two men separate them from the treasures. One of them is the anxious stranger in the dark blue blazer, while the other is a bald man in the black uniform of the guards outside. Both men sneer at the pair.

"What do you want?" demands the first man, still sweating like a sinner in a church.

"What _you_ want," says Chrollo, inching forward. The second man reacts and curls his fists. Chrollo smells their fear emanating from them, and he gives a little shrug. "You must have sensed me as a fellow thief," he says to the first man. "That's why you are so nervous. You are afraid of a little competition?"

"You want to play with us?" the second man growls.

"Perhaps," the Spider head answers, and he means it. He could sense the aura leaking from them, and he could not afford a serious fight between two Nen users with Valtiel behind him. And so to distance himself from her, he approaches the thieves and receives snarling threats. "There is no need for a fight."

The second man raises both fists in the air. Two balls of energy form in his palms. He tosses both of them at Chrollo's direction, and the latter dodges without much effort, landing on the other side of the room. Again, the man keeps shooting Nen balls out of his hands. Chrollo keeps dodging, though at this rate, he is afraid that the treasures would be destroyed.

At the man's final throw, Chrollo closes the distance between them, smirks deviously in his face, and impales him with a blunt spearhead he snatched from one of the sculptures.

"B-Bastard!" The bald man howls in pain. He clutches the deep gouge in his stomach where the spearhead embedded itself. He falls to his knees, his life's blood pooling and seeping to his black pants.

"And you said you wanted to play," Chrollo muses. He allows the first man to attend to his friend's needs, knowing well enough that a wound that deep would only result in death. He looks back at Valtiel, still standing by the closed door, though her expression screams horror and fright from his actions. A frown tugs at his lips, unsure how to make things better for her.

"Brother…" The first man clutches the other's bloodied hand. "Saikhan…?"

"Selenge…" The other returns, breathing faintly.

Chrollo has no plans to hear their final goodbyes. He walks to the living brother, Selenge, with murder evident in his dark eyes. He flexes his fingers, about to use a technique Feitan had taught him during their early childhood in Meteor City. The technique is easy and quick, and requires no unnecessary dramas. Perfect for a situation like this.

Selenge removes himself from his brother's dead body and glares up at the raven-haired man. He starts to unleash a bit of Nen, and then a stronger one, the force enough to make Chrollo blink and Valtiel cower in the unfamiliar sensation of deadly power. Selenge stands up and brings his hands to the air, chanting words spoken in an ancient tongue. Then, his aura takes form−a tail, a spiky torso, and then bony skull of a fish.

Three fish materialize in thin air, wriggling as if begging to be unleashed by their master.

"Indoor Fish," Selenge explains as the white fish circles above his hands. "Carnivorous, always hungry−they feed on human flesh. They like it best of all." His face grows grim and devoid of sympathy. His teary blue eyes notice the young woman at the back of the room, watching. Then a smile on his lips. "You die. Now."

"NO!" Chrollo shouts in a voice so angry it does not sound like him at all. He attempts to outrun the fish, but they are sleek and nimble, gliding through the air. He reaches out for one, seizes it by the tail, and it circles back to him and opens its sharp jaw. He puts his right forearm to fend off the bite.

A pained grunt rattles him as the fish takes a deep bite in his flesh. Yet Chrollo hesitates. He is expecting sharp pain to register in his system, but there is none. The skin around his wrist is torn, the muscles red and taut underneath the slash. His observations are cut short when Valtiel screams and tries to run away from the fish assaulting her.

Chrollo blocks her pathway, scoops her into his arms in bridal style, and jumps to the other side of the room. He lands on top of the crates, eyeing the fish chasing after them.

"Anyone who feels the wrath of my Indoor Fish cannot feel pain," Selenge explains, growling as he kneels beside his brother's body. "And the fish are alive as long as the room is sealed. You can only die once they are gone. We have all night to play, wouldn't you say?"

"Only a fool would show his hand before the game has actually begun," Chrollo mutters under his breath.

"Danchou?" Valtiel cups his cheek, then her hand strays to his wounded wrist, dripping with blood.

"It's fine." He assesses the situation and waits for the fish to attack them. They do not, however, until Selenge orders them to do so. "I would have to put you back on the ground. The way I see it, I have to disable the user first to disable these fish. Can you keep yourself safe until then?"

Valtiel stares at the fish and one hisses back at her. "Sure. It will be fun."

He chuckles and removes his jacket. He puts it over her shoulders to ward off the increasing chill in the atmosphere.

With a curt nod, he jumps off the stack of crates and settles the young woman near the glass windows. At his movements, the three fish open their jaws wide and prepare to sink their bony teeth into his flesh again. He evades their attack, giving chase around the sealed room, rounding towards the front so he could reach the user.

Selenge anticipates such a strategy and sends his fish again to assault Valtiel.

Chrollo, annoyed that his opponent has to prey on someone else, snatches Saikhan's corpse from his brother's fingers, and tosses it at Valtiel's direction.

The body flies across the room and comes in between Valtiel and the fish. The creatures, smelling the blood on the corpse, sink their teeth onto Saikhan instead, feeding off on their master's brother.

A horrified scream echoes inside as Selenge desperately crawls to save whatever is left of his brother. Chrollo yanks him by the collar of his blazer and forces his face to the ground, smashing Selenge again and again, until his nose is soft and bloody, until his teary eyes are filled with nothing but clotting blood. His fingers twitch, prompting the fish to turn their focus from the corpse to the young woman.

The Spider leader is about to come to her rescue−when Valtiel grabs the nearest jar and smashes it against the windows.

An ear-splitting scream echoes again from Selenge, helpless to stop his creatures from fading into dust.

Chrollo smiles in satisfaction and drags Selenge towards the windows. With a devious smile, he kneads the man's face across the floor scattered with shards.

Selenge's screams are both horrendous and a delight. Sweeping his face across the shards, watching the long line of bloody trail on the floor−Chrollo could have gone for more minutes, but Valtiel pushes him by the shoulder to stop him.

Tears stain her golden eyes. The sight catches him off-guard, and he stops abruptly, letting Selenge slide to the floor and weep for himself and his brother.

"Enough," Valtiel says through the tears. "That's enough… Danchou…"

"Val," he murmurs. He never would have expected her to cry, not like this.

"Let's… Let's go home…" When she closes her eyes, more tears fall to her flushed cheeks. "Please?"

He brings a hand to her face and wipes her tears. The gesture is too unfamiliar to him, too tender and gentle that it sends a confusing spark in his system. Yet he continues to do so, if it means she would stop weeping in front of him.

"Give me a moment, then we will go home. I promise."

Chrollo kneels next to Selenge and rolls him over so that his face is turned toward the ceiling. Despite knowing that this might raise some unwanted questions in the future, he summons his Bandit's Secret in his right hand. He feels the sudden interest and confusion rising in Valtiel, but given her current trauma, he knows she would not hound him questions anytime soon.

As part of the conditions of fulfilling the ability, he asks Selenge a few questions about his Indoor Fish ability. Battered and broken as he already is, Selenge discloses everything the man wants to know and puts his hand over the book's handprint.

With that finished, Chrollo leaves Selenge on the floor and approaches the collection of paintings. He identifies those presented earlier in the gala, but only chooses one to steal: a book-sized canvas depicting the seven-headed dragon looming before a blazing sun. He feels a surge of pride for his accomplishments today−the new books, the painting, the new ability, and most importantly, Valtiel crying.

He walks back to her with a small, reassuring smile. "As I promised, we go home now."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** HELLOOOOO, world! It's me coming live at you with some more ChroVal (yes, I am calling these two like this because I'm _that_ lazy to type their full names) m̶i̶s̶adventures. On your left, you will see Dad Chrollo taking care of his youngling! On your right, you will see Spider D̶a̶d̶d̶y̶ Chrollo in his natural habitat of thieving and murdering, with a side quest of making little girls cry and thriving off it. Classic! 💯

About tribes dancing their traditional dances off on streets, these are true in real life. Sadly, their cultures are being drowned out by technology and people choosing more modern things than supporting cultures. I wish I could do more than raising awareness for them.

* **xenocanaan** \- Val will indeed end up giving Chrollo more grey hair, at this rate at least. He's stuck with her on babysitting duty. Haha! Thanks for reviewing!

* **polarsky** \- Thank you for the birthday greetings! 😘 I'm glad Gareth died, too. Such a prick! Ugh. And Valtiel using "I need to pee" is intentional: it does sound a bit coarse and unrefined, but I think it shows off her unrefined way of living before all this (being a Kurta and all, basically an uncivilized person really). It also greatly contrasts Chrollo's sophisticated persona. That, and it also sounds childish, alluding to her childish curiosity about everything she's experiencing. Thanks for asking the question! Also, you're not a native speaker? I wouldn't have known!

* **AwkwardBlackCat** \- She's definitely living the dream! Travelling, good food, expensive dresses, and a handsome escort! The stealing and the murdering are parts of the package too though. If I were her, I'd be willing to overlook the cons. XD I'm glad you liked this chapter!

* **Cirrina** \- Thank you for the double reviews! I love your describing Chrollo as "a mix between gentleman and devil" because he totally is! I'm surprised that some people liked the short FeiVal (yes, I'm lazy) interaction in the previous chapter. They're definitely going to share the spotlight together!

Thank you for reading! Hoped you enjoyed this long-ish and action-packed chapter. Reviews are always welcome! 💕


	9. Chapter IX

**Chapter IX**

* * *

"Val, are you not yet sleepy?"

There is no answer from the figure seated on the window ledge. Chrollo stands at the threshold from the kitchen, two steaming cups in his hands. With a weary sigh, he settles himself on his side of the bed and discards the cups on the bedside table, beside the books they stole that afternoon. Instead of going back to his usual reading, he opts to lean back against his pillow and study the Kurta, still sulking and sniffing ever since the fateful incident in the museum. Glancing at the clock makes him frown. 3:08 A.M−it says.

He continues studying her, wondering why she should ignore him so. Is it because of the fight, the way her life had been put into danger? Or did she mourn for the bald man, or feel badly for the brother? Chrollo could not decide which one should upset her like this, and he is determined to find out. Even as a child, he loved mysteries and challenges. This one should be no different.

Still, there is something he does not understand: why is she ignoring him? What does she hope in accomplishing for ignoring him? In the Troupe, should the members have any problem with each other, they would always talk about it until the problem is resolved. Chrollo is used to that, and if he is, then Valtiel should too.

"Val?" he tries again, in the hopes she would glance at him. Just once.

The figure on the window ledge shifts, not toward him, but farther from him. She presses herself against the cool glass as if hoping she could pass through and leave him here in the gloomy darkness of their room.

Chrollo figures she would not budge until he has given her a good reason to do so. He peeks at the cups on the table, but his subconscious already knows that the Kurta would not take the bait. Not this time, at least. And so he sighs, weary from the previous fight and tired from this quiet treatment, that he gives one look at his injured right wrist. He finally comes up with a better excuse to manipulate her and draw her attention.

"My wound started bleeding again," he murmurs under his breath. He notices her perk up from her seat, removes her eyes away from the window, and turns toward him. He lifts his wrist, the slash deep and runny with blood. "Would you help me with this, Val?"

To his triumph, she stands and crosses the room to reach him. She rounds the bed and proceeds to his side, seating herself before him. Her golden eyes widen at the extent of the injury.

Valtiel's touch is careful and hesitant. "Does it hurt so much?"

He shakes his head, observing her as closely as he could. "No, but I would rather that you help me with it."

A small first-aid box sits beside them on the mattress. Valtiel takes her quiet time washing off the blood with a damp washcloth first, gentle as the fabric comes contact with the abrasions around the corner, which turn into a deep slash going to the center. The blood is profuse there, pooling around the edges. She lets her hand move in gentle sweeping motions, careful so as not to hurt him more.

Chrollo is content in watching her. She looks beautiful like this−her eyes still bloodshot from crying and her tears dried across pale cheeks. She had changed her white gown to a light blue nightdress.

"Why do you ignore me?" he whispers at length.

The question surprises her that she looks at him straight in the eyes−golden meeting grey. Then she looks down again, continues attending to the wound he could really care less.

His eyes narrow at her. If she wants to play this game with him, then he would. A guessing game at three in the morning should be entertaining. "Is it because I had him killed?"

She stiffens at the blunt question. Coming from him, spoken in his soft voice, it sounds like a question laced with vehemence behind it. She shakes her head and puts the washcloth down.

"No, it wasn't because you killed him," she corrects him, implying that the conjured fish did not kill Saikhan, but Chrollo himself did. She heaves a deep breath, shaking her head. "It is because of the screams, those two brothers."

"Their… screams?" His brows furrow, him unable to comprehend her meaning.

She resumes cleaning his wound, now coating it with an ointment from the box.

"It happened when I first heard them scream. The elder brother, screaming in pain," she whispers, her voice low and filled with resentment. She bows her head until Chrollo could not see her face or eyes. "Then the younger brother screams next, so filled with hatred and anguish and−" She shudders, closing her eyes, feeling the first drop of tear race down her cheek.

Chrollo's open palm catches the tear, and his fingers twitch at the strange sensation.

"I couldn't keep my mind from hearing those voices over and over again," Valtiel continues. She takes a clean bandage and starts wrapping it around the damaged area. "Those same anguished screams… It feels like I have heard them before… I don't remember where, in a dream perhaps, but they are the same sound, so desperate and angry and…"

More tears fall. Chrollo's palm catches them, his eyes focused on each falling tear. He now understands that she does not mourn their deaths, but she is haunted by the memories of them screaming. His breath hitches in his throat, the realization dawning.

When is the last time Valtiel heard people screaming, as if their lives depended on it? Since when did she encounter such hatred and desperation and abhorrence?

"I hear their voices," she says after minute of silence. "Theirs, and many more others… I don't remember who they are, I don't remember _anything_ …" She glares at him, with eyes glassy from unshed tears. "Why, Danchou? Why did you have to do that? Why make them suffer, make them scream−when you would only kill them in the end?"

"Do you really want to know why?" His palm reaches out to her cheeks, wiping away the tears. Again, the gesture feels surreal. No one in the Troupe is as vulnerable as Valtiel. Not one of them needs comforting like this. It is strange for a hard-hearted killer like Chrollo Lucilfer, yet he still finds himself in this situation, comforting someone who is only a commodity in his eyes.

"It is because he wanted to hurt you," comes his answer. "He wanted to harm you when I only wanted the treasures. I never intended to hurt either of them, but they insisted on it. I would only be a fool if I would not defend you and myself. In the end, they got themselves killed for their foolishness."

"But to make them suffer−"

"Is only part of the process of defending us," he interrupts her, before her ardent curiosity comes between them. He strokes her hair, working on the tangles. "I did what I have to do to compromise."

"Compromise?"

 _Ah, there it is_ , he muses, fighting the urge to smile. "Yes," he says aloud, "compromise."

Her head tilts to the side, reminding him how he used to be when he was a child.

Allowing himself a small smile, Chrollo pats the space to his left and Valtiel crawls next to him. He slides across the mattress, covers themselves with the white blanket, and props his chin against his left hand. He looks down on the Kurta as she settles under the covers, snug and cozy like a little girl.

"When I was a boy, I used to be bullied by the other, much older children," he confides. He could not help but grin at her reaction, as if she could not believe that the leader of the Phantom Troupe used to be bullied like any other children in the world. "I was," he confirms, easing her misgivings. "I was very filthy and scrawny, like a size of a wet rat."

At his description of himself, Valtiel bursts out in laughter.

He chuckles with her. "And the older boys were much larger and stronger," he says. "Back in Meteor City, we used to fight for everything, even though the adults told us not to. We fought over spaces and blankets and clothes−whatever we could find that could still be useful. I shared what I found only to my friends, and the other children became jealous, resentful even. They hurt me until I told them where I found the goods."

She frowns then, scooting closer to him. "And what did you do? When they hurt you?"

"Uvogin always came to my rescue." He closes his eyes. For a brief moment, he could see the large junkyard city he grew up in, with all the other Troupe members. Uvogin with his afro. Feitan small and scrawny as Chrollo had been. Nobunaga forever boasting his sword. Machi tending to everyone's scratches and bruises after a long day of playing around.

"He did?" Valtiel asks wonderingly.

"Yes, Uvo and Nobunaga most often," he answers. "I remember a time when Feitan terrorized them for an entire week. The Elders were beside themselves, always red with temper." He faces her again, using his arm as a pillow. "It was when I learned that I had to compromise, especially when my friends are not around to help me. Uvogin taught me how to confront them, Nobunaga offered me his sword and−" He laughs at the next memory−"And Feitan suggested I stab them and peel off their nails one-by-one."

"And did you?" she asks, laughing with him.

"Absolutely not," he snorts, "but I did follow Uvo's advice."

"How did you compromise then?"

"I confronted them, drew myself taller and told them to stop. After that day, Machi had another bruise to fix."

She makes a face. He grins at her.

"But I never stopped going against them," Chrollo says. "After days, and then weeks, I learned how to stand up for myself and for my beliefs, and for the sake of my friends. I made myself strong so that next time, I would be the one protecting them."

"Is that why you made the Phantom Troupe?"

"The Phantom Troupe…" A ghost of a smile crosses his features. The bedside lamp behind him puts a shadow on his face, and it makes his face look sadder than usual. "We are the Spiders. We are what the world made us to be−abandoned, forgotten, unloved. For the outside world, we were nothing worthy. But we, all of us, were children with dreams and ambitions. That was what motivated us to create the Spiders. The world already thinks so lowly of us, why the hell should we care?"

"And you killed people for it?"

"Yes, we did. We still do."

Valtiel falls silent, letting everything sink into her mind. She never would have imagined Chrollo's story to be like this. She has always seen him as the quiet, reserved individual, highly respected by his peers. To her, he is no more than a thief with a penchant for books. Now, as he lays beside her with his sad smile present, she sees the other vulnerable side of him: loyal and caring towards his friends. She loves hearing him tell these stories from his youth, unable to imagine the violent Spiders as children playing together.

Then her silence turns into heartache. A pang of jealousy suddenly seizes her when she remembers that she has no memories of her own to share−no childhood friends, no bullies, no lessons and experiences to shape the person that she is now. She is nothing but a shadow of her former self, and she even has no ideas what her former self was like.

Chrollo senses her grief and shifts on the bed. His weight makes her roll towards him. He chuckles when she flushes in embarrassment, trying to scoot away from him.

"You are one of us, Valtiel," he tells her, the same phrase he keeps repeating since the first day in the church. He puts his free hand, the injured right, to cup her cheek. "Even back then in Meteor City, you were with us. From the beginning, until now, and for the rest of our days, you will be with us."

"Really?" Her eyes turn wide, the light from the lamp illuminating her golden eyes brighter.

"It is true," he assures her, traitorous to his very core.

The lies flow smoothly from his mouth−one lie after the other−regaling her of made-up stories about her close friendship with Machi and Pakunoda, her fondness of Shalnark, and even how Phinks would treat her like a sister. He should feel ashamed making up her history, acting like a god to his own creature, making her a subject−a soulless puppet more like−to his own additions and subtractions.

But Chrollo Lucilfer feels no shame or guilt. Instead, he feels fiery and animated. He is not fond of improvising, but as the minutes wear on and the smile on Valtiel's face brightens, the lies keep flowing. In a short span of time, he remakes her into someone else, an entirely different person.

According to him, Valtiel is like them, abandoned by their parents in the world's largest junkyard city. She made friends with the Troupe's founding members and was closest to Machi and Pakunoda−for Chrollo did not want to assume that he and Valtiel would have been that close. He adds her in his personal experiences with the Troupe members−playing tag, rummaging through garbage in search for food, sitting beside them before a blazing campfire in the middle of winter season, and many more. In each memory he has, he adds her as if she has lived the same memories, when in truth, she is a Kurta with a home and a family and good food on the table, warm and loved throughout her life.

His soft voice and storytelling lulls her to sleep. He watches how her eyes droop in sleepiness and how she tries to swallow back a yawn, to give the impression that she is not yet sleepy. He sighs at her stubbornness and glances at his phone for the time. 4:58 A.M.−wee hours in the morning, it seems.

He finishes his lies with the story of how the Spider was made, that Valtiel was there the day it happened, but she did not want to join them in stealing and murdering.

"Can we go back there?" Valtiel asks sleepily, her eyelids fluttering shut.

"Where?" He tucks her hair behind her ear, and then tucks the blanket under her chin.

"Home," she murmurs as she smooths her cheek across the pillow. "Meteor City."

"Of course." Even though she could not see, Chrollo smiles at her. He turns the lamp off behind him and notices the two cups he prepared for them earlier. He lets them cool as he burrows himself deeper into the covers, his face only inches away from hers, swallowing back a yawn like she does. Watching her fall asleep beside him makes him feel sleepy as well. He closes his eyes then, the memories of his childhood flashing.

"Promise?" comes the extremely sleepy question.

"I promise," are the last words he says before finally drifting into slumber.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Hello, everyone! Sorry for the rather late update! I got carried away with real life stuff. Haha. Belated Happy Thanksgiving as well!

This time we are having a shorter chapter, a bit of an emotional and psychological exchange between the two. Small details here and there, but will play a large role in the future. Oh, Chrollo!

* **xenocanaan** \- Thank you! Glad you enjoyed the last one!

* **polarsky** \- You're welcome! Feel free to ask any kind of questions. Also, I could imagine the Spiders putting her under their care when it comes to training. Gotta babysit the Danchou's treasure. 😉

* **HiMELuna** \- Thank you as well for reading!

* **hisoDAMN** \- Yay, thank you!

More Scarlet Eyes transactions coming up. See you all next update! Thank you for reading and please leave reviews! 💜


	10. Chapter X

**Chapter X**

* * *

"Shalnark? It's me. I have a favor to ask−"

Then, a cheerful voice comes from the kitchenette:

"Danchou! Do you want pancakes or waffles?"

Chrollo puts a large hand on the phone's receiver and answers, "Pancakes."

He turns back to the task at hand, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of the window. The weather is dark and clammy, threatening the small seaside town of a heavy rain.

"Yes, yes," he tells Shalnark, nodding to himself. "Memories, anything about them. It doesn't matter who. Just make sure you find one for me−"

Again, the cheerful voice. "Coffee or tea?"

The hand on the phone again. "Coffee, please−" And back to the call. "Yes, that was Valtiel and−Okay, hold on. Shalnark says hi, Val. Also Phinks says what's up."

She laughs inside the kitchen. "Tell them I said hi."

He catches her shadow moving to and fro. The smell of pancakes invades his sense of smell and his stomach automatically grumbles. He turns back to his phone. "She says hi−No, never mind what we're having for breakfast. I need you to listen to me. Yes, anyone with the ability about memories−Anyone would do. Tell Feitan not to kill them… Yes, yes, okay−"

Someone knocks on the door. Chrollo is about to approach it when Valtiel emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, and beats him to it. He eyes the frilly pink apron and wonders if the hotel had it tucked somewhere in the first place.

He draws his mouth away from the receiver. "What is it?"

"Our neighbors brought us some fried seafood," she tells him, showing the large tray. Her apron swishes around her as she goes back to her previous task. "I'll add this to our breakfast."

"Yes, that would be nice, dear." He goes back to the phone and hears Shalnark and Phinks chortling on the other line. His eyebrow raises slightly. "What? No." He frowns. "I didn't−It wasn't like that. 'Dear' is a neutral word and−Feitan, I can tell you're eavesdropping." He caresses the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, Shalnark, you have your orders. Disseminate them to the other Spiders."

And the line goes dead.

Valtiel arrives in the living room with the breakfast tray in her hands. She blinks at his pale face. "What's wrong? Did something bad happen to Shalnark-san's group?"

He shakes his head as he takes his seat. Dark eyes scour through the food she has prepared for them−pancakes with chocolate chip syrup, sausages, and the neighbor's seafood tray of crispy golden-brown flounder, shrimp and clam strips. His stomach growls again. Chrollo is never big on breakfasts before; coffees always do the trick for him. He could get used to a proper meal like this.

"I didn't know you could cook," he murmurs, taking a modest pancake and sausage.

"Me neither," she says with a laugh, her lips against the rim of her mug.

"Perhaps we should stop eating lunches and dinners at fancy restaurants." Outside, the rain starts, making the streets a dark grey haze. He leans back on his chair. "That should cut some of our budget."

"Our budget is nonexistent," she counters through a mouthful of pancakes. She fills a spoon with the chocolate chip syrup and slurps it like one would to a soup. Chrollo wonders if she knows how to eat pancakes at all. "Since you keep stealing credit cards, there's no need to worry about budgets."

"Touché."

Like always, they fall into a comfortable silence. Valtiel finishes most of the food while Chrollo takes his fair share by finishing the coffee. Whatever is left, they agree to save later for lunch. The rain drowns out the remainder of their conversation, their voices hushed as they already are.

Valtiel stands up and clears the table. The Spider leader watches her under his critical gaze. After a while of observation, he sighs, stands up, and joins her inside the kitchenette.

"Do you want me to do the dishes?" he asks, setting his mug on the sink.

"Do you want to?" she retorts.

He shrugs, not even understanding why he would offer his assistance. This must be his first time to fall into such a domesticated lifestyle that he has no idea what he should do around a house. Of course he has read books about this before, watched some shows on the television, but real life? It looks more complicated and exhausting than picking a lock to a museum's treasure vault. His Spiders would agree with him.

She smiles and takes his mug. "I'm fine. You can do your thing in the living room."

Not wanting to press the issue, he complies. Instead of staying on the couch, he goes straight to their shared bedroom and flops himself on his side of the bed. Three unfinished books are stacked on the bedside table. He decides to take one as he intends to wait for Valtiel there.

An idea strikes in his mind. His lips purse, the words in his book suddenly uninteresting. _Perhaps I should do something very nice for her_ , he thinks. _A gift of appreciation or something._

Valtiel enters the room and recoils at the threshold, as if surprised that he is there. She recovers her shock with a faint smile, and with careful steps, she rounds the large bed and curls up on the left side−her side.

Chrollo turns his attention back to his book before he could get distracted any further.

A yawn comes from the Kurta girl. She curls tighter, blanket tucked under her chin, her platinum blonde hair an uncontrollable mess about her shoulders. She peeps up at him. "When do we get to sell more Scarlet Eyes, Danchou? We've been doing nothing for three days. What if the others are already ahead of us?"

"Are you worried that we might lose, Val?"

"Well, the others do seem very competitive," she points out. "And Pakunoda-san says there is something she really wants to steal. Her group could be winning now."

"We made a good profit from our previous transaction," he says and flips to another page.

"Sure. Those swindlers are the real winners."

"Is there something you want to suggest?"

"Me?" She yawns again, burying herself deeper in the layer of blankets. She grabs Chrollo's free pillow and embraces it against her chest, her little nose inhaling his heady scent. She almost blushes. "Not me. You're the Danchou. You get to decide everything."

"Aren't you obedient?"

"In my defense, we're not doing anything illegal yet, so…"

He chuckles and rolls a lock of her platinum hair around his index finger. He glances down at her and finds her still pressing her nose on his pillow. "What do you say about going to high school?"

Her golden eyes shoot up to his face, searching for answers. "High school?"

A curt nod. "I have been in contact with a high school teacher in the far side of the country," he explains, flipping to another page. "I am selling the Scarlet Eyes to her for 500 million." He chuckles when she starts up at the price. "Too much?"

"For a teacher, yes."

"I never heard her complain so−" He receives a little glare. "And we cannot win the game if we sell them too cheaply. Five hundred should be fine."

"Fine." The fight goes out of her. "When do we leave?"

"Tonight."

* * *

It is still raining when Chrollo and Valtiel leave the comfort of their hotel room. Like before, Chrollo manages to acquire another limousine, a dark shade of maroon this time, and hustles everything he has stolen into the trunks. The Scarlet Eyes are packed in a separate container, wrapped in silk ribbons. Their combined personal belongings of clothes and books are in a separate box, stashed with the Scarlet Eyes in the back.

Valtiel dozes throughout the journey, her knees pressed to her chest as she nestles on the passenger seat. She shivers from the incessant clammy weather, and Chrollo has urged her to wear one of his oversized black jackets to fight the cold. The Spider leader himself wears a coat of his own: a grey multi-zippered jacket with black silk lapels and open collar−no doubt stolen. He completes his look with a pair of black jeans and leather gloves, his hair hanging naturally to his chin.

He glances at the clock. Almost 10 in the evening. Enough time for travelling.

The rain pounds harder as they make their way outside the small seaside town that had been their home for four days. Memories of the museum's evening gala, the brothers he fought, and even Valtiel's breakfast are all left behind. He has no time for sentimentalities.

After six hours of driving, they arrive to the suburban city in the edge of the continent. Chrollo checks into another high-end hotels available and carries his sleeping Kurta towards the king-sized bed. He slips under the covers next to her, limbs numb from driving.

His phone beeps in his pocket.

He all but hisses when the light almost blinds him. A text from his client.

 _04:35 +81-717-54514: Are you here yet?_

 _04:35 Chrollo: We are to meet at nine in the morning._

 _04:36 +81-717-54514: I know, but I want some adjustments. Can you meet with me?_

Chrollo glances at Valtiel's serene face, brushes the bangs off her cheeks. She always sleeps so peacefully that there are times that he envies her.

 _04:39 Chrollo: No._

 _04:40 +81-717-54514: Just some adjustments._

He sighs, a little annoyed.

 _04:47 Chrollo: Tell me now._

 _04:49 +81-717-54514: I have to substitute in a class at nine. Can we meet before that?_

 _04:53 +81-717-54514: Are you there? Let's meet at eight, still in the agreed location._

 _04:59 +81-717-54514: Hello?_

 _04:59 +81-717-54514: Mister Eleison?_

 _05:00 Chrollo: Fine. Eight o'clock then._

 _05:01 +81-717-54514: Thank you, cutie. :)_

And Chrollo falls asleep after that.

* * *

That morning, Valtiel wakes up to the aromatic scent of coffee. She rises from the bed, one hand rubbing the sleepiness out of her eyes while the other scratches at her belly. From what she could discern, they are in another hotel but not in the same peaceful town. She could hear the rumble of engines and the honking of cars and buses alike. Instead of heading to the kitchen, she immediately goes to the window, throws it open, and breathes in the fresh air of autumn trees.

"Morning," says a husky voice from behind.

"Hey." She smiles at him, a beam of sunlight illuminating her sleepy face.

Chrollo approaches her with a steaming coffee mug in his hand. He offers her his drink, as he leans his arm against the paneling of the window. He watches her take a sip. "Okay?"

She hums. "Needs more chocolate."

He chuckles and leaves his mug with her. "The front desk officer gave us sausage gravy lasagna for breakfast. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all." She joins him at the table where he produces another mug for himself. He has pulled out a newspaper as well. "Any news from our client?"

"Ah, yes, about that−" He wrinkles his nose, shakes his head, raven bangs swaying. "Something came up on her side. Instead of nine, we are to meet her at eight. At the agreed location−her school."

"I should like to see what a school looks like."

"Do you want to go inside?"

"If we can," she answers carefully, and he does not miss the sudden hopeful gleam in her eyes. She bites at her lower lip, as if trying to swallow her words, but it wins over her. "Can we, Danchou?"

"We can certainly infiltrate the building and enjoy ourselves," he says. He nods, mostly to himself, his curiosity also winning over him. It is not everyday the leader of the dangerous Phantom Troupe gets to see what it like inside an ordinary high school. This could be a useful information in the future.

He finishes his share of the meal and washes it down with coffee. "Get ready. We leave in an hour."

While Valtiel heads to the bathroom, Chrollo heads for the door. He should have expected that the Kurta would ask to go inside the school, not just look at it from afar. He should have considered all possibilities with her, given her curiosity in everything. With her occupied in the time being, he has to make some adjustments to the plan. He leaves their room without giving the Kurta the slightest idea that he is gone.

Twenty minutes later, he returns just in time to see her exit the bathroom. He halts mid-step, the box in his hands almost forgotten, as Valtiel stands not five feet away from him, with her wrapped in a light blue towel, her thick hair plastered across the creamy skin of her collarbone and shoulders. Her wet skin glistens underneath the morning sun, and her golden eyes are caught up in his grey ones.

They stare at each other for a few moments, until Chrollo turns his head and clears his throat in a lame attempt to recover.

As in their usual way, he gives her another set of clothes to wear. But instead of handing it to her, he leaves the heap of clothes on their bed and closes the bedroom door without another word. He does not trust himself to get too close when she is fresh from the shower, her skin moist and pink from scrubbing.

He escapes to the bathroom to find solace there.

When he finishes, a dark purple towel wrapped around his naked waist, he steps out of the bathroom and finds her checking at her latest appearance on the full body mirror, twirling around to watch the short blue skirt bounce about her thighs. Chrollo blinks once, then twice, before he could fully comprehend _and_ remember what is happening.

Valtiel notices him staring and shoots him a confused look. "Is this how it should go?"

With an effort, Chrollo finds his voice. "Ah, yes," he mumbles, feeling a bead of water roll across the length of his chest. He rakes fingers through his raven locks. "It is the girls' uniform of the high school we are going to," he explains, watching her twirl around. "It goes with a red ribbon around the neck."

"Oh." She fetches said ribbon from the bedroom and fixes it accordingly.

"Good enough."

It is his turn to change clothes now. Glaring down at the dark blue uniform, he lets out a sigh and slips the uniform on, jacket and all, and adjusts the sleeves. A small part of his brain is cursing himself for allowing this to happen, while another part dreads what the other Spiders would think should they see him wearing a high school uniform. At twenty-one, Chrollo is too old for high school, but he figures−confidently even−that his good looks would pass for a seventeen year old.

Valtiel's face lights up as he exits their bedroom. "You look handsome in that."

"Do I?" Chrollo makes a show of checking himself on the mirror. "I thought so, too."

Standing side-by-side, they could pass for a pair of high school students, in their matching uniforms of dark blue with red accents. Valtiel wears a white blouse underneath a dark blue blazer, her white socks hiked up to her knees. She has fixed her hair into a half-ponytail, the blonde locks pulled back from with face with another red ribbon. Beside her, Chrollo could only look better: with his hair down, hands in his pockets, even with a feigned smile−they are indeed ready for high school.

* * *

The Raizen High School stands at the very center of the town. It has a main building with four more adjacent buildings, smaller and narrower in comparison. A large clock dominates the main building's central tower. Steel gates open to the students, who come in every direction and are all busy laughing and chatting.

Valtiel's eyes are wide with unmasked wonder. It feels as if for the first time in her life that she has finally seen what a high school looks like. She whips her head left and right, undoubtedly ecstatic to find other students dressed in the same manner as her and her companion. She is about to rush inside the school's premises when she feels a firm tug on her hand.

She turns, only to find Chrollo looking down his nose at her. "What?"

"We cannot enter yet. We have to wait for our client."

"We can wait for her inside. She's a teacher, right? So let's wait inside." She tugs at his hand.

Chrollo tugs her backwards, more forceful. His eyes narrow at her. "Are you disobeying me?"

She frowns and stands at her tallest height before him. Even like this, with her low-heeled black shoes, she only comes up to his chin. And she is not best pleased with that fact. "Let's wait inside."

Again, his hand tugs at her, closing their distance so that her forehead almost brushes his chin. The other students glance at their direction, curious at the arguing couple.

"Danchou−" She breathes against the collar of his uniform. "Inside. Please?"

A shrill ringing of the school bell interrupts him.

Valtiel takes his hand and pulls him towards the school, into the school grounds, surrounded by teenaged students. "Hurry up, Danchou! We can't be late for our class!"

Chrollo grunts. "We don't have a class here." He sighs in defeat−complete and utter defeat. "Fine."

Going to high school is a terribly, horrendously, _painfully_ bad idea.

* * *

But not so bad after all.

Ten minutes into wandering around, they both find out that the place can actually be warm. The children are all smiles and friendly, except for some schoolgirls who could not help shrieking upon meeting another friend across the hallway; that one hurt Chrollo's ear, if he has to be honest. And the staff is accommodating; they smile at the two "transfer" students and point them to the direction where the library and cafeteria are.

Valtiel takes her time peering into every classroom they pass−looking at the teacher, counting the students, reading whatever is written on the whiteboard. She does everything like an eager researcher would do. While she minds her own business, Chrollo busies himself watching her, their hands linked together to keep the Kurta from straying too far, and probably bursting into a room.

He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

 _08:15 +81-717-54514: Where are you?_

 _08:15 Chrollo: Inside the premises. Yourself?_

 _08:16 +81-717-54514: Fourth floor, end of the western hallway, music room ;)_

He pockets his phone and turns to his companion. "It seems our client changed the venue. We are to meet her in the music room. We should get this over with as soon as we can." The weight of the box in his other hand feels quite heavy that he wants it to be relieved of it soon.

Still hand-in-hand, they follow their client's instructions and find themselves in a dim corner of the building. Too far from the classrooms, the hallway is quiet and almost abandoned, without the early morning light spilling across the floors. Chrollo blinks at Valtiel as his hand closes around the knob, as if asking for permission, as if waiting for her to smile and nod her head.

She does, and he opens the door.

A figure looms on the other side of the room−a tall, dark-haired and dark-skinned young woman. She rounds towards them when she hears them enter. As a teacher, she wears a black blouse and dark blue pencil skirt. Her green eyes glimmer from where she stands by the drum set.

Chrollo merely nods at her general direction. "Miss Beza."

Her rich laughter fills the music room. "Please, you can call me Marie." Then her eyes flutter towards the younger girl, who is very much engrossed running her fingertips on a nearby pianoforte. "I had thought you would be alone, Mister Eleison. I even prepared something for you."

He holds up the hand carrying the box. "No, thank you. Miss Eleison and I are on a tight schedule."

Marie Beza just shrugs and approaches him, all smooth and long legs sauntering towards him in particular. In her heels, she is almost as tall as Chrollo. She holds out her hands for the box, and when he gives it to her, her long fingers brush the skin of his wrist. She tries to catch his eyes, but Chrollo's intent expression is boring through the drum set behind her.

Shrugging, she sits and pulls at the silk ribbons. The box comes undone, revealing two Scarlet Eyes floating inside a glass canister. Her lips curl into a catty smirk. "Five hundred million Jenny for these beauties, right?"

"Yes. You can transfer the money to the given account now."

"Okay." She types fast in her mobile phone and shows the screen to him. "Will this do?"

He barely peers at the phone. "Yes."

Marie hums deep and presses the _Send_ button. She perks up when she hears Chrollo's phone vibrate in his pocket. She licks her lips, placing the Scarlet Eyes on her lap.

Chrollo nods his acknowledgement of the receipt and turns for Valtiel. He pauses when he finds her already across the room, strumming the strings of a brown guitar. "Time to go, dear."

He mentally frowns when he remembers Shalnark and Phinks teasing him yesterday about it.

Valtiel forces herself to stop from her explorations and accepts his offered hand. She follows him as he guides them back to the door, but she could not help but peer over her shoulder and look at the dark-skinned young woman. She is certainly beautiful with a certain flare within her; Valtiel could only guess why she could want something as costly as the Eyes.

And so she asks.

"Why the Scarlet Eyes?"

The question makes Chrollo pause, and Marie to smile.

"I am a lover of all things beautiful," she answers, hugging the canisters to her chest. Green eyes observe Valtiel from head to toe, and then travel to Chrollo, lingering on his face. "Like yourselves."

"I don't quite−" Valtiel furrows her eyebrows, stepping forward to make a statement. "Really, I don't−"

"We should go," Chrollo murmurs in her ear. "We're done for the day."

She looks as if she would put up another argument, as they have done so many times in many different places. But Marie's rich laughter stops them short from arguing. Valtiel gives her a confused look.

Marie leans an arm over the canisters, and rests her chin on her arm. "You should listen to your boyfriend, cutie."

That is the last thing they hear from her when they shut the door to the music room. The pair traverses the same pathway they took earlier, when, all of a sudden, Valtiel blinks at the direction of the music room.

"Danchou?"

"Hm?"

"What's a boyfriend?"

Chrollo just rolls his eyes.

* * *

Recess.

Dozens. No, hundreds of children swarm into the cafeteria. Most of them have packed snacks with them and are only there to sit and eat with their friends. The girls giggle and share their sandwiches, while the boys are violent and raucous, shouting and fighting at every little thing that the cafeteria keeps rattling from their raised voices. The others could only groan and speak louder to their friends, to drown out the shouting.

Leaning on the cafeteria doorway, Chrollo smiles at the scene before him. It reminds him of his Troupe members with their different personalities−some wild and fierce, others calm and composed. Times like these, he would remember how much he misses their company, no matter how noisy it gets.

A brown-haired girl stares up at him. She is so small that he could guess that she is a freshman.

Uncertain what to do with such unwanted attention, he shrugs and focuses his attention to the Kurta girl on her way to join him again. He smiles then, welcoming her in his arms, as she jumps and shows him what she acquired from the front counter.

A chocolate ice cream.

High schools should do better than offering ice creams.

"Everyone wants them," Valtiel says, gripping her prized possession in both hands. She notices the Spider leader staring down on her, so she offers the ice cream to him. "Want some?"

"I am not a fan of anything sweet."

"Ah! But you ate my pancake with the chocolate syrup yesterday!"

"I did, but I never said I liked it."

A sudden hurtful look on her face. "You don't like my cooking?"

Chrollo's stoic demeanor never falters, but his voice sounds amused. "Sometimes."

She rolls golden eyes at him, feeling playful, licking at her ice cream. "Then good luck cutting our budget for the fancy lunches and dinners, Danchou."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Right! So I'm updating this in a quick flash because my friends and I are supposed to have a sleepover! Haha. Gotta make a quick update first though! Hope you guys like this little chapter. Danchou and Val doing domestic stuff and being high school students for once （＾・ω・＾✿）

No, but seriously, Danchou—what's a boyfriend? （・∩・）

* **xenocanaan** \- Haha! Gotta give kudos to Best Actor of the Year Award, Chrollo Lucilfer! The only way I could see Valtiel developing a healthy, independent personality is getting away from Chrollo! Thanks for the review as always!

* **HiMELuna** \- Thank you for leaving a review!

* **HeroSeekerFrost** \- YES! Velcro! That's brilliant! Haha. Let's see how much these two could stick together! ;) Thanks for reviewing!

* **patito** \- Thank you! Let's hope she gets more independent. :3

Once again, thank you all for reviewing! Now I gotta run for our sleepover! 😂 Happy weekend everyone! 💕

P.S. Feitan is a dork. :3


	11. Chapter XI

**Chapter XI**

* * *

Being Chrollo Lucilfer's doll is an odd thing.

One moment there are countless dresses, shoes, and jewelries spread across the floor of their bedroom. Like children at play, they would sit cross-legged across from each other, matching tops to skirts, hats to shoes, earrings to bracelets. Most of the time it is him finding the best match for her, and he sits back and watches her in fascination as she would don the clothes, make a little performance of showing it off to him.

In other times, instead of a delicate porcelain doll that he makes her feel, he sends her at play with their clients. For the past three months, she has learned how to dance at the tune of Chrollo's orders−entertaining, bargaining, and sometimes threatening their clients into purchasing their Scarlet Eyes. There are times when she would simply sit and watch as deals are done, threats are given, money is transferred. In such occasions, she feels truly like a doll−only for show; there for his beck and call, always at arm's reach for his gentle fingers to brush over her cheeks or lift her chin a fraction of an inch.

More often than not, in the dimness of their shared room, Chrollo would sit her on the bed and face her, the glow of the lamp in his handsome face.

"It is a woman's greatest asset that she is a woman," he would say. "She has the greater advantage to any man. You must know how to enchant him, how to turn his head and keep his attention on you, never making him realize that you have entrapped him."

She tilts her head to the side, blinking, mulling over this strange lesson.

He smiles and swipes the pad of his thumb under her right eye. "You have beautiful eyes," he says. "You must know how to use them to your advantage. Any woman can communicate with her eyes, that is true, but an intelligent woman knows what to do beyond that. A lady commands both respect and desire to any man−she can flick her eyes and smile, and he would interpret that as hidden pleasures all at once."

"Why are you telling me this? Do you want me to do exactly this to our clients?"

"Of course. It is good practice, and a basic lesson you must master."

"To use my eyes?" She sounds bewildered. "To catch their attention? It works like that?"

"It works to any man of any age," he explains, kind enough to ease her through her innocence. He should know these kinds of things, being a young man himself, who has travelled the world and seen different kinds of women−the most naïve, the seductresses and temptresses, the stubborn-type of women. He knows them all, and knows that no man could resist a woman who is irresistible. He smiles at her again. "Besides, what man would object a younger woman's advances?"

Valtiel falls silent, embracing a pillow to her chest. And then: "I should advance on them, then?"

He is aghast. "Heavens, no." He chuckles. "Though some men would appreciate a bold woman, I would not want you to be so tempting. You must learn how to lead men on, and then draw back. Keep their sights on you, but forever at arm's length away from them. You are a lady: you can lead him onward, then run away. Make promises. Enchant him. Confuse him. Make him laugh."

She pores over the words again and again.

Chrollo smirks deviously. "And I will teach you how to do it."

The lessons are thorough, _very thorough_ , when it comes to the Phantom Troupe leader.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

* * *

Tonight should be no different.

It is their final transaction after three months of going back and forth across the continents, sleeping in either expensive hotels or rural cottages. Tonight, they are staying in the most expensive hotel the metropolitan city could offer. The place reminds her of Lencasser, only this one is perhaps a hundred times more sophisticated and elegant, too big with bright lights and breathtaking cityscapes.

"Are you ready?" Chrollo's familiar voice comes from behind.

Of course, his voice is familiar now. Too familiar in fact. For three months, she has not known any other man but Danchou−heard no one, smelled no one, saw no one but Danchou. Her life since her memories disappeared has revolved around him.

She rises from the bed, the soft fabric of her skirts falling across her bare thighs. Her platinum blonde hair is twisted thickly in a bun, high behind her head, contained inside a jewel-encrusted net. She has a sapphire worth a fortune in her earrings. Her sapphire necklace glimmers between the valley of her breasts. Chrollo has chosen her attire for tonight, a deep blue strapless dress, especially for the occasion.

Dark eyes critically observe her. He has one finger under his chin, a low hum rumbling in his throat.

"Is this not okay?" Valtiel asks, rather insecure at his intense staring. The low neckline already makes her feel too exposed for her liking. She keeps still so as not to cover her exposed shoulders and arms.

"You are stunning as always," he quips, "but I am worried about your neckline."

"You and I both."

He chuckles and approaches her. He falls silent as he tries to think of alternatives for the exposed skin, but his usually sharp mind could not think of anything else. He is distracted by her eyes, wide and round as she looks up at him and waits for his amendment of the current problem.

He grabs his dinner jacket and puts it around her shoulders. "Okay?"

"No." She shrugs the jacket off, glaring at him. "We won't convince the client if I am wearing that."

"Then you admit you're fine going there are you are now." He smiles, glad that she is participating.

"We asked for this." She shrugs, thinking back on the tedious process of securing this meticulous client. Just the mere thought of it sends shivers down her spine. Perhaps she should take the jacket offer. Or not.

"Let's go now. Better earlier than the client."

With a possessive hand on the small of her back, he leads her out of their hotel room and hails one of the passing cabs. He sets the large box of the Scarlet Eyes across his lap, feeling the weight of five pairs and one dismembered head of a young Kurta. He had been careful not to let Valtiel see the head, for fear and caution that it might trigger some old memories that are best forgotten. His experimentation on her is not yet finished; in fact, it has barely begun.

The cab stops in front of a multi-story club, another high-end place in this city. He pays their fee, clutches the treasures in his left hand, while offers the right to Valtiel. She takes his hand in hers, and with a blink, he realizes that she is shivering with nervousness.

"You'll be all right," he whispers in her ear, as they pass through entrance doors.

He peels himself away from her, only for a moment, to let the burly guards check his person for weapons and bombs. He shows them a fake identification card and sidesteps them. To his relief, no one stepped forward to check on his female companion.

She links their arms together, leaning the length of her body against his. "This is our worst transaction yet."

Despite himself, he laughs. "But our most expensive, too."

"It would have been better if our client is not some old pervert with a fetish for young women."

"Now, now," he coaxes her sharp tongue. In the last three months, her usually sharp tongue has indeed gotten sharper. "It would be better if you present yourself as calmly and professionally as you could, like you have always done before. You are a lady, not some random girl on the streets. You must command respect from him."

"Hm? Is that so?" She raises her eyebrow at him. "You make it sound so daunting."

"Not at all." He smiles as they come through another door. The hallways grow dimmer with each passing step. The further they walk, the louder an energetic music rumbles. "To you, nothing should be so daunting. You are a Spider, after all. We do not bend or break."

"Shall I get a spider tattoo on my back, too?" she teases, but more to ease her nerves.

"No." He frowns at the thought of her porcelain skin blemished with ink. He wants the last Kurta in the world to be pristine. Untouchable by all but him.

"Danchou?" She blinks up at him.

"Hm?"

"You went quiet."

"Oh... You should not worry too much. I promise to keep an eye on you every step of the way."

The club looms before them now, all red-blue-green lights flashing in different directions, hurting their eyes. The upbeat music from the loud speakers makes her head nauseous. Dozens and dozens of people are all clad in leather or skimpy clothing, boots, and glittering silver necklaces. It is so crowded that is it hard for them pair to pass by some people without being bumped into or shouted at for interrupting a dancing session between couples. Chrollo smiles and apologizes to them all, pulling his partner towards a quiet corner of the bar for some respite.

For the first time in months, Valtiel wrinkles her nose in disappointment.

"What kind of place is this?" she shouts over the loud beat of the music.

"A club, though I wouldn't expect you to understand," he says and snaps his fingers for the barman. He whispers a series of drinks in the barman's ears and slips a wad of cash over the counter. He turns back to her and grins at her almost disagreeable face. "Val, a lady does not frown so."

"How could I not?" she snaps, the clamoring noise making her head ache. "I would rather stay in our room and read books, wouldn't you?"

"You and I both," he agrees, quoting her own words, earning a snort from her. He puts a hand on her knee and leans close to whisper. "Our client should be here in a moment. Give him time. Besides−" Smirking like a handsome devil, he fishes out a small hardbound book from his jacket− "I brought entertainment."

"A book inside a club?"

"Why not?" He finds his bookmark and begins reading, chin propped onto his palm.

Resentful that he should ignore her in a place like this, Valtiel leans over his shoulder and reads with him. She rests her chin on his right shoulder, their cheeks pressed together. If Chrollo ever reads too fast and flips a page too early, she would tug at his sleeve and he would chuckle, return to the previous page, and wait until she finishes. Somewhere along the lines, the barman serves their drinks and disappears again.

Valtiel reaches for the glass, but Chrollo snatches it far from her reach. "Hey! What gives?"

His lips spread into a smile against the rim of the glass. "You're not drinking. You have a client, remember?"

"Oh, come off it."

" _You_ come off it."

"Danchou!"

"Yes, beautiful?"

She clamps her mouth shut and scoots away from him as far as her seat could allow. She turns her attention back to the ongoing party, somewhat envious that the people around her age are having fun in their own yet strange way. A sudden thought comes across her mind then−what would it be like if she's the one dancing there, surrounded by strangers? Would Danchou even allow that? Does she even know how to dance? She never knew she could cook before she tried. Perhaps dancing is the same and−

"Don't even think about it."

"Think about what, Danchou?" she fires back with a little pout.

"I know that look," is what he says, but his eyes are glued to the brittle, yellowing pages of his old book.

"Don't you dance?" She shivers, sending goosebumps on her shoulders and arms.

"Not dances like these, no."

"What kinds then?"

He looks up and meets her curious gaze, sees the petulant pout on her lips. "Ballroom dances."

Suddenly, his phone vibrates. He checks the screen and the smile on his face vanishes. He discards his book and picks up the Scarlet Eyes from the counter. He shoots her an expectant look. Time to work.

Valtiel follows closely behind as they weave through the crowd, crossing the dancefloor and heading towards the other side of the dark place. There, near the stage, is a group of three young men dressed in black tuxedo ensembles like Chrollo. Two of them look more like bodyguards, while the man at the center is fair-haired with hazel eyes and an easy smile. He immediately recognizes them as he nods to Chrollo and shakes hand with him.

They share a few whispered words between them, ending with Chrollo nodding. Then the man turns his full attention on Valtiel, sidestepping the Spider head as if he is nothing but a commoner, and smiles and offers to kiss Valtiel on the cheek.

She gives him her hand, but her golden eyes are glaring at Chrollo.

"My name is Mark," the young man says. "These are my companions, Caz and Brecker."

"Valtiel Eleison," she returns. "We're here for the Scarlet Eyes, no?"

"We are." Mark laughs, throwing his head back. When he calms, he snaps his fingers and the two bodyguards take the parcel from Chrollo. "Mister Eleison and I have agreed that the Scarlet Eyes would cost 5 billion for each pair, while a head with the Scarlet Eyes costs 10 billion."

"Yes." Chrollo steps closer to them both. "In total, 30 billion Jenny."

"Exactly," Mark beams at him. "But there's a catch; Mister Eleison and I already agreed to this."

His cheerful gaze lands on Valtiel. Without any thoughts on subtlety, his hazel eyes roam over her shoulders, the sapphire necklace over her chest, the deep blue skirts dancing about her knees. He nods in appreciation−much to Valtiel's increasing nervousness and to Chrollo's deepening annoyance.

"My boss promises to add another billion if Miss Eleison here comes with me to meet him."

"Right," bites out of Valtiel. "So I heard."

"You're not happy about it?" Mark cocks his head to the side.

Behind him, Chrollo stiffens at the possible sharp answer his partner might give.

Instead of her usual snide remarks, she smiles sweetly and even manages a little laugh, demurely covering her mouth as she does.

"It would be my utmost pleasure to meet him," she says.

Chrollo lets out the breath he doesn't notice he's been holding.

Mark then places a hand on the small of her back, taking Chrollo's usual spot by her side, and orders the bodyguards to stuff the Scarlet Eyes into their car. According to him, the payment would be transferred later when Valtiel is done meeting with their client and his boss.

As she and Mark are exiting the noisy club, she glances over her shoulder for Chrollo. He simply nods, though his jaw is set and his eyes are darker than usual. He would be with her every step of the way, but first, there is a strong Nen user somewhere in this club that he has to find.

* * *

A black limousine awaits outside. Valtiel shuffles inside with Mark, Caz and Brecker taking the driver and passenger's seats up front. Mark drapes an arm over the seat's back, inches from her skin.

"So, are you and Mister Eleison together?"

"Oh, no," she says, finding the question quite rude to begin with. "We are… acquaintances…"

"Acquaintances," he drawls, amused. "It feels something else to me though."

"Ah, then your feeling is unfounded, good sir." She flashes golden eyes at him, her voice playfully on the edge, and then her fair lashes sweep down her cheeks as she looks down. Instead of a doll or a lapdog, she feels more like a harlot passed between different men. Danchou must pay dearly for this insult.

"Judging on how easily he let you go, I would believe yes: you are acquaintances."

"It is as you say," she says aloud, but her mind screams.

A few minutes later, the limousine stops before a grandiose hotel. Valtiel's eyes widen as she comes face-to-face once more with the hotel she is sharing with the Spider head. So this is where their client is, after all? Her subconscious laments that she has to suffer through the noise and blinding lights in the club when they could have arranged a meeting here in the first place. Perhaps Danchou did not know their client's whereabouts, which should shock her all the more. Danchou knows everything, down to the last insignificant details. This could mean trouble for her.

Anxiously, she searches left and right for him. He promised that he would keep an eye on her. He should be around here somewhere, stalking them as a predator would to a prey.

Mark intertwines their arms as they enter together. He takes her to the forty-fourth floor.

"Welcome to the prince's suite." Mark opens a door that leads to an extravagant room−possibly the most extravagant Valtiel has ever seen in her life. "The prince is waiting for you in the living room," he adds, pointing to the right wing of the suite, hidden by purple velvet curtains with silver ropes.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says after a while.

"O-Oh, thank you." She nods her thanks and feels quite alone when Mark shuts the door. _What now?_

The spacious room doesn't look like someone is here. She allows her sight to roam around the place, admiring the gilt-edged paintings and porcelain jars inside glass cages, the ancient armor standing by the couch, the crystallized chandeliers and rich velvet carpet. Her formal attire might not match the club earlier, but in a place like this, she looks the part.

She spots an extensive bookshelf and immediately approaches it. There are many volumes written in swirling calligraphies, old tomes with flaky covers, scrolls and scrolls of some religious teachings. An unbidden smile graces her features. She thinks of Chrollo, how he would riot to be in her stead.

She notices an extensive collection of scrolls and illuminated manuscripts. Curiosity piqued, she runs her fingertips over the delicate papers and reads some passages. It discusses something about ancient warfare and leadership. She turns to the next page, then the next, and another page… until footsteps resonate from the other side of the suite.

"You are a fan of Han Feizi?" a voice asks.

She flinches and steps away from the shelf. "My apologies," she mutters.

Across the room, holding the purple curtain off his face, is a young man about Chrollo's age. He has pale blonde hair and a thin moustache. If he is a prince like Mark says, then this man does not show it. He wears a simple cream tunic over his turquoise shirt and pants. The only indication of his extreme wealth is a golden belt around his slim waist; it is embedded with multi-colored gems, putting Valtiel's sapphires to shame.

The prince smiles warmly as he comes nearer. "Please, don't be shy. I'd love to hear your opinions about Han Feizi's works. I am especially intrigued in his philosophical approach regarding human nature and political methodologies."

She glances at the collection he is referring to, and returns the warm smile. "I am more curious about his stance in the warring periods of his country, which his predecessors have all experienced," she explains, bluffing her way through the conversation with what little information she read before he appeared.

"I have a feeling you and I would enjoy each other's company." He fetches the box of Scarlet Eyes.

"Likewise, Your Highness." She bows.

"Oh, please." He snorts, waving her bow with his hand. "Let us have this conversation in the presence chamber. I want to hear more of your opinions from many other subjects. I do love hearing from the common folk. Come, sit with me."

He takes the Scarlet Eyes to the nearest mahogany table and pulls at the ribbons. He holds one canister in his hands, rotating it around and around so as not to miss an inch of those glimmering crimson irises, the way their eyes are vivid under the crystallized chandelier light.

Smiling, the prince sets the canister down and draws her to an elegant couch. "Would you like a drink?"

Remembering that Chrollo had once forbid her to drink, she nods, only to spite him. "I would be grateful."

The prince fetches a wine bottle and two glasses. He serves her one. "My name is Tserriednich, Prince of the Kakin Empire. And yourself, my lady?"

She almost chokes at the dreadful taste of the wine, having never to taste one because Chrollo said so. The wineglass easily goes forgotten in her hand. "I am Valtiel Eleison. I come from Meteor City."

"Meteor City? Interesting. I heard so many great tales about it. I pray you tell me more."

"Unfortunately, I couldn't, Your Highness."

"And why is that?" he asks again, his voice kind.

"I lost my memories three months ago," she confesses. In the back of her mind, she remembers the Phantom Troupe members back in the church, how she would accompany Omokage in search for white lilies, with Nobunaga and Uvogin as her unwilling bodyguards. "I had been in an accident, and I don't remember much about the past, except for what my friends tell me."

"Tragic," the prince agrees. "Then let's talk Han Feizi. You like his take on the Warring States period?"

"Who wouldn't?" she counters, and his dark eyes gleam with amusement.

In the back of his mind, he has decided that he already likes her.

For hours on end, they speak about a variety of subjects. The prince is well educated on known subjects, and it is only Valtiel's layman's knowledge about them that allows her to breeze through each conversation. She has to thank Chrollo's books for helping her bluff her way around, misdirecting a hard question from the prince with another question or a witty remark that makes him laugh for a few moments, and then forget what he is asking for in the first place.

Such an unexpected turn of events that Chrollo's lectures could actually be put into good use. She should read his books more often, or listen to his senseless ramblings in the wee hours in the morning.

"You are quite a pretty sight, are you not?" The prince traces the curve of her face with his fingertips.

"Th-Thank you, Your Highness." Humility becomes her. She has no more words for him. Discreetly, she glances at the clock on the far side of the wall, wincing to herself. 11:37 P.M. So three hours have passed. Again, the anxiety kicks in. _Where is Danchou?_

"Come back to Kakin with me," Tserriednich says out of blue.

"I am sorry?"

"I could use a good conversationalist like yourself in the palace. I have no use for men who curse every time they breathe, or for women who call themselves by name." His calm face contorts into a maddening one, reminding her of Omokage's wild eyes and maniacal grin. His hand shoots out from under his long sleeves, gripping Valtiel hard around the wrist, forcing her towards him. When she struggles, he pulls harder, dragging her across the couch.

"Your… Highness…?"

"Come to Kakin…" His breathing becomes labored. "We will use Han Feizi's teachings to destroy the world."

"I couldn't− I am not−" She struggles yet again.

Anxiety turns into a sharp pang of fear. And resentment for Chrollo. How could he leave her to such a deranged man? Is this all for the 31 billion Jenny their client promised? Her wrist starts to hurt from the prince's grip, drawing red lines on her skin. Tears prickle from her eyes.

"Please, I'm not−"

"YOU!"

Tserriednich growls and holds her around the neck. He brings her face close to his, noses brushing against each other. He glares into her eyes, admiring the golden flecks amongst the golden irises. But something else flickers. Under his meticulous observation, the golden flecks are slowly turning into a different hue. Too faint to notice at first, then there it is. As if creeping from the shadows, he sees it: the slow turn of gold to scarlet.

Like a man in a dream, he turns away from the young woman and searches for his latest collection. The Scarlet Eyes. He bends over to one canister, comparing the scarlet hue from this one to hers, and starts to chuckle to himself. His shoulders are trembling with excitement to this newfound information. He could almost feel his own mouth salivating at the thought of it.

He faces her again. At this distance, the scarlet is not too visible in her eyes. _She is not scared enough_ , he realizes. Not scared or threatened or hurt enough for him to earn a reward: her Scarlet Eyes.

"You must return to Kakin with me," he reiterates.

"You must excuse me, Your Highness." Valtiel stands from the couch. When she does, the prince's maniacal face darkens, threatening her. Her blood runs cold, her legs unable to move. She puts one fist above her hammering heart. "I am very honored by your invitation−"

"It is an order, not an invitation." He growls again, louder.

"A commoner is not worthy of such an honor, my prince." Again, misdirecting. Turning his anger to vanity.

He considers for a moment, and then: "You would cease to be a commoner shortly after arrival."

She shakes her head, backing away from him. She could run to the door, supposing Mark did not lock it earlier. Or she could stay here and suffer his crazed advances. She notices the corkscrew he had used to open the wine bottle. It is not much, but within reach. She saw Chrollo kill annoying people with just a ballpoint pen before; a corkscrew should do better.

More importantly, where is the Danchou?

"Come here now, my lovely Kurta."

He saunters toward her, opening his muscular arms in a dismissive gesture.

Once more, she shakes her head. This time, she takes her chances.

To hell with Chrollo and his promises.

Valtiel grabs the corkscrew from the silver tray and races to the door. She screams when Tserriednich grabs her around the waist, lifts her high above the ground, and spins her further inside the room. Legs kicking wildly, her high heels scratch against his thigh and he cries out, releasing her. She slashes the corkscrew between them, forcing him backwards, but the wide grin on his face says she entertains him.

The prince lunges and tackles her down to the couch. They roll off and struggle on the carpet, all scratching nails and kicking legs while Tserriednich only laughs and evades her futile attempts. At her last slash, the corkscrew slices across his broad chest, eliciting a little grunt of pain. He draws back to watch his tunic stain a deep red. Valtiel, desperate and scared, delivers a back kick to his bleeding chest and scrambles back to her feet. She wobbles as she stands, kicking away the high heels to Tserriednich's face.

To her utmost relief, the door opens. She sobs while on her way to the elevator. Caz and Brecker are not here to guard the entrance points. Behind, the prince catches up, chasing after her like a man possessed.

She pounces inside the elevator and frantically pushes at the buttons.

Tserriednich appears on the other side, but does nothing to stop her. He simply stands there, eyes glazed with dark abandon and a promise that he would return for her.

Shaking, she embraces herself and slides to the elevator floor. Tears are clouding her vision as she watches the numbers go from forty-four to her floor with the Danchou.

After what feels like forever, Valtiel emerges out of the elevator and locks herself inside her shared room with Chrollo. It is so dark inside that only the moonlight gleams between the thin curtains. Her heart still beats so fast and wild that she has no means to calm herself but sit at the foot of the bed, embracing Chrollo's pillow to her chest. Her tears are just as uncontrollable, streaming down her flushed cheeks no matter how much she wipes them away.

What if the prince finds her here? What if his bodyguards take her away? What should she do then? Does she have a weapon she could use in here? _Where_ is Danchou?

The door creaks open. Her breath hitches in her throat.

A familiar shadow enters. It does not bother turning the lights on. It just lets out a tired sigh.

Her heart skips a beat. "D-Danchou?"

Chrollo stops by the door, frozen. Even in this dim lighting, he could tell how distraught she is. One look at her messy hair, skewered dress, lack of shoes, and purple bruises on the neck and red lines on her arm is enough for him to unleash a vehement Nen.

She shudders at the strange sensation of his malicious aura.

He wills himself composure and kneels on the floor before her. As if acting on pure instincts, his thumb wipes under her eyelids, his palm sweeping the tears away. He is in such a state of shock and anger that he could not form the words, eloquent as he is.

"Where were you?" comes her shaky voice.

"I was−" His eyes spot traces of blood on her collarbone− "fighting someone…"

"Did you win?"

"I always win."

Valtiel heaves another shaky breath. She only nods, noticing that he is in no better condition than she is. In fact, he looks somehow worse.

His dinner jacket is torn and tattered at the sides, his inner white shirt peeking between the gashes. His raven hair is a wilder mess than usual, and he has light scratches and dust on his cheeks. A short gash bleeds across where his shoulder meets neck.

She wants to scold him for leaving her behind like that, for chasing after his own twisted amusement while a dangerous prince is threatening her, but she does nothing aside from wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and sobbing against the curve of his neck.

Chrollo wraps his arms around her waist and adjusts their positions so that he is standing from the floor, the young woman being lifted gently with him. He backs themselves towards the head of the bed and lays her on his pillows. He props himself on his elbows as he hovers above her, the lengths of their bodies pressed together, his legs trapping hers in between.

He leans down and presses a soft, experimental kiss on her forehead. Yes, he has done it several times during their acts as couples, which means nothing. But now, it means everything. Chrollo cups her cheeks in both hands as he presses another kiss on her temple, then to her ear. Moving to the other side of her face, he kisses her temple and ear as well. His lips travel downwards, to her nose, pressing a rather lighter kiss there, though he does brush their noses together.

"I am sorry," he whispers. "I failed you. I am so, so sorry that I have no words."

His thumb sweeps underneath her bottom lip, his dark eyes focused on the movements of his thumb. He could feel her body tense under his gentle caresses, and he knows she is holding her breath in this close proximity. Still, he implores for more, kissing her on the cheek.

"I should have been more responsible," he says.

"Why did you have to fight?" she asks, trailed off with a sigh when his lips nip at her jaw.

"Someone was very strong in the club. I had to fight him and steal his ability."

Her eyebrows furrow. "Steal his ability?"

He nods against the slope of her neck, one hand working on the tangled platinum locks, to clear them away from her right shoulder. He dips down to kiss her shoulder, the sensation of her squirming beneath him as enticing as discovering new books. He wants to read and explore her like one of his books, take care of her and make sure she is in the best condition possible.

"Tell me what happened to you," he demands with a low growl.

"The prince−" She chokes back a sob, remembering the horror of confronting him alone. He hushes her with another feather-light kiss on the temple. "He is a monster. He wants to bring me to Kakin with him."

"Kakin?" Chrollo pulls back and stares down on her.

"He said I'm a good conversationalist for him."

A shadow crosses his handsome features. He grounds his teeth. "Shall I kill him for you?"

Her hand reaches out for his cheek; her thumb grazes over his own scratches. "He's not worth it."

"Are you sure? Killing him would be easy. Give me three minutes−"

"It's fine, Danchou. It already happened. Besides, we agreed to meet with him, remember?"

"But to expose you to danger is not what we agreed."

" _You_ were supposed to make sure of that," she points out, eyes glued to the ceiling. "But you _didn't_."

That quite knocks him off his perch. But of course she has a point.

Swallowing his pride, Chrollo merely nods. He rises from the bed and turns away from her. He stands and starts removing his destroyed clothes, from the jacket to the shirt, and tosses them into the bathroom. He disappears inside, the shuffle of his clothes unmistakable.

Valtiel moves to rid herself of her dress, too. Her skin has already been exposed to too many elements that she feels quite disgusted with herself. The men's incessant staring, Tserriednich's hands and blood−all of them are making her queasy. But as she slips the fabric off her legs, her cheeks grow warm from the sensation of Chrollo's lips ghosting over the very skin the other men spoiled for her.

She finds herself a pink satin nightdress and rolls on her side of the bed, back against Chrollo.

He changes into his pajamas and slides under the blankets. Normally, he would turn the lamp on and read until early morning, but it seems something has rotten his appetite for reading. He grunts in the darkness, trying to find the perfect spot, when his arm suddenly snakes around Valtiel's waist and pulls himself flush against her, his chest to her back.

"I am sorry," he says again.

"It's fine." She feels for his arm and finds his hand.

"My priorities were askew tonight. In the end, you paid for my mistakes."

Silence on her end.

"I will make it up to you. I promise."

"Of course you will."

A slight shift on the bed from behind. His hold on her tightens.

"Turn around for me?" Chrollo asks.

She gives in, too emotionally spent to give another good reason for an argument. She rolls to face him, resting her cheek against his outstretched arm, and starts to doze off. She could feel gentle fingers working through the tangles of her hair again and tucking them behind her ear. The arm around her waist returns, pulling so ever closer that their legs are now laced together underneath the blanket.

Another kiss on the forehead and another, "I am sorry."

She groans, opening one eye to meet with his concerned look. "One more apology and I will−"

"I am sorry."

"Danchou!"

"What?"

"Sleep," Valtiel mumbles, nuzzling against his neck. "I'm too tired for your games."

"Tomorrow, then." He chuckles and closes his eyes, his arms tight around her.

* * *

An hour after drifting off to sleep, his phone vibrates on the nightstand. Careful not to wake the girl in his arms, Chrollo reaches out on the other side of the bed and reads a text from their client.

 _01:12 +81-717-37564: Thank you for the wonderful treasures. I have sent 40 billion Jenny into your account, in lieu of what happened to the lovely Miss Eleison. Please do inform her that I want to see her again._

His mood darkens all at once.

 _01:13 Chrollo: The next time you touch her, I will dismember you._

 _01:13 +81-717-37564: I look forward to that, and to Miss Eleison's lovely Scarlet Eyes._

Chrollo starts up from the bed, glaring at his phone and cracking the edges at his firm hold. A low rumble comes from his chest, his fists curled in the sheets. Is this why the prince hurt her? Did he see her Scarlet Eyes activated? To what extent? What measures did he have to use? He _has_ to know.

And to think that someone else−other than Chrollo himself−has touched Valtiel. It riles him up, boils his blood hotter than anything he could have imagined. Valtiel belongs to him. How dare this prince touch her, tarnish her? The mere suggestion that someone else might have gotten his way with her deserves a visit from the entire Phantom Troupe. But he keeps his face stoic: the only indication of his inner turmoil is the growing dark scowl on his face.

Unknown to him, his outburst wakes the Kurta. "Hm, Danchou? Everything okay?"

He covers his face with one hand, trying to get his bearings. Then he smiles as he faces her.

The long hair is rumpled over her shoulders, her eyes bloodshot from crying and hazy from sleep. Such a rare treasure to find in his bed and within arm's reach.

He stretches an arm around her and plants a kiss on her forehead. He pushes her back to the bed with him. It only takes a while for Valtiel to fall asleep again. He takes his phone once more.

 _01:37 Chrollo: She is mine, as you may already know. I should like to see you try to get her._

 _01:38 +81-717-37564: Challenge accepted. Sweet dreams, my friend._

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Hoo boy! That was some intense chapter! Anyone who follows the manga knows who Prince T̶e̶r̶r̶o̶r̶S̶a̶n̶d̶w̶i̶c̶h̶ ̶Tserriednich is. In my opinion, his personality is quite frightening, so I hope I did some justice with how I portrayed him in this chapter.

Also, damn! Danchou got wrecked by Tserried! Vows to himself to have his "treasure" all by himself, but Tserried gets to see the Scarlet Eyes. Checkmate, Chrollo! So, the Danchou tries to _recover_ by getting all physical with her. Real smooth there, Danchou. 😓

* **xenocanaan** \- Thank you! Hoped you enjoyed this chapter!

* **AwkwardBlackCat** \- Oh, yay! It's nice to read form you again! And wow, what a long review! I'm glad that you've been enjoying the past few chapters and picking up with the subtle hints in their behavior. And yes, I really found a way to get them into high school! Super shady business going on in there. 😎 And I'm laughing whenever I read Val's "tv priveleges" and Chrollo's "dress-up Val privileges". These two nerds gotta stop giving each other privileges! Haha.

* **Amy** \- Thank you so much!

* **Evan** \- Sorry it took so long, but here it is! You think it's suspenseful now? Just wait until Kurapika finally shows up! I bet this little angery boi will go ballistic, will punch people left, right and center, will go absolutely batshit crazy, when he finds out what Chrollo's been doing to Val. Okay, that might be too intense, but the thought is there! 😂 Thanks for the review!

* **minfay** \- She's gonna end up exasperating the Danchou! Haha.

Okay! That's all for now this week! I hope you guys enjoy your Friday and your weekends! I'll be sure to enjoy mine. Please don't forget to leave a review and let me know what you think! 💕


	12. Chapter XII

**Chapter XII**

* * *

The city lights outside their window are like fireflies drifting in the air. A shade of red-orange, blinking intermittently. In any given night, Valtiel would have already plunged herself into the porch to admire the lights and the view−but not tonight.

Chrollo walks into their shared bedroom with a weary sigh. Dressed only in his simple shirt and pajamas, he pads into the room and closes the door behind him. He tips his head, staring at the big lump on the bed. It is unmoving, thought it does let out a few shaky breaths and a tiny sob.

This is the third consecutive night that Valtiel woke up from nightmares.

It is a bit worrying, and horrifying to some extent, to hear her scream into the darkness, sit up straight, and tremble beside him. Whenever he tries for comfort, she hisses and slaps his hand away. That's only the first night. The second night is somehow worse, Valtiel seeing nothing but the Prince of Kakin in Chrollo's face that she glares and snarls at him like a cornered beast.

On the third night, Valtiel decides to get away from him altogether.

He sighs and tries again, sliding to the mattress and settling next to her.

"Valtiel?"

She hisses and curls even tighter underneath the duvet.

Chrollo slumps and blows at his bangs. "Val, dearest, you've been there for five hours. Are you not tired? Or hungry? Come, talk to me−" He pries the hem of the duvet open.

"Don't touch me!" she rasps, her glazed golden eyes reminding him so much of their first time together.

Under her protective dome, she is trembling like a leaf, fingers too tight around herself. She looks like a deranged woman with her unkempt hair and wild eyes, the labored breathing, and everything. When Chrollo smiles gently and reaches out again, she scrambles away from him, shouting another, "Don't touch me!"

Chrollo frowns. Not touching Valtiel would be too hard a task.

"Come out now," he says in a more authoritative tone. She flinches. "Come out and come here."

"But, Danchou…" She sniffles, peeking between the hems.

"Now, now," he coaxes and opens his arms for her. He doesn't give her a choice when he scoots closer and engulfs her in his arms, her head tucked just under his chin. He presses his nose on her rumpled hair and inhales the scent of clean linen on her. "It's going to be okay," he murmurs as he runs his hand up and down her back. "You're safe here with me. No Prince of Kakin will ever come and take you away from me."

She sniffs and buries her head in his chest.

He could feel the swell of pride and joy at the feeling of her submitting to him. He embraces her tighter; in his arms, she is so small and vulnerable, like a little bird too delicate to the touch.

"I will protect you," Chrollo promises. "I will protect you from everything and everyone. You must not, for a moment, be worried about that." He pulls away and lifts her chin. He half-expects to see her Scarlet Eyes when she is this emotional, but− _oh well_. "You have the entire Phantom Troupe to protect you. You're safe with me. Okay?"

He doesn't receive an answer. He clicks his tongue and presses his thumb on her chin. "Okay, Val?"

"I don't know…" she mumbles, shaking still. "I just−I just don't know anymore…"

"Trust me. Trust me on this one, Val."

She lowers her eyes. No matter how much her nightmares have scared her, the Danchou always has a way to distract her. She nods meekly and slumps against his larger build, exhausted from the nightmares and from the tears. If only she could forget the Prince and remember everything else, that would be great.

They stay in each other's arms for a few minutes, until Valtiel shifts and looks up at the Danchou again.

As usual, his features are one of quiet adoration. For what, she has no idea.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, kissing her on the forehead.

"I might be," she mutters against his shirt, unable to pull away from his strong hold.

"Good, because I have something for you." He proceeds to the kitchenette and returns with a platter of some dessert. He proudly shows the food to Valtiel. "I give you−profiteroles."

"Hmm." Valtiel hums at the pastry, but then brightens when she notices a bowl of chocolate dip. Nightmares and fears pushed aside, she dips her finger into the bowl and licks.

He grimaces. "Manners, Val."

She actually smiles, her first smile in three days.

Sighing in defeat, Chrollo sits back on the pillows and watches her eat. It boggles his mind how someone could be so predictable yet difficult to handle at the same time. He rests his chin at the heel of his palm, lazily watching her through his bangs. At least she is cooperating with him again. Not like when she was pushing him away. He doesn't like to think that Valtiel could be anything without him.

"We're going to see the others soon," he says out of blue.

"Oh, yesh," she answers through a mouthful of the pastry. "When?"

"Soon," he teases, and has the pleasure to see her roll her eyes at him. He rumbles a low laugh.

The crumbs are flying everywhere on the bed now. He grimaces again and dusts them off the duvet.

"You're such a messy eater, Val. It's gross."

"You're not complaining."

"I am," he points out. "I am complaining. _This_ is the complaint."

She sticks her tongue out at him.

He sighs. _Whose five-year-old child am I looking after?_

As she finishes with the profiteroles, she sweeps her finger across the bowl's surface and makes one last lick at the chocolate dip. Chrollo is ready to put away the platter and bowl, when he notices something else.

Scooting ever closer, he gathers the bead of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. His dark eyes are locked on her golden eyes as he delicately licks it off his finger.

Valtiel stares at him, and then shoots him a deadpan look.

"Now, _that_ was gross, Danchou."

* * *

The air in this country shimmers with heat, despite the winter season. Chrollo is grateful that the airport has functioning cooling systems, strong chilly winds blasting through the vents on the walls. He sits back and sighs, feeling too hot to speak or conjure other thoughts, except for the incessant heat. He knows his cheeks are flushed, the beads of sweat rolling over the length of his back and chest. Next to him, the Kurta does not seem perturbed in the slightest.

With a strawberry smoothie in one hand, Valtiel studies the map in the other. One of the flight attendants provided them a guide and map for tour spots, to which Chrollo could care less right now. It is too hot for his liking, prompting him to fan at his face.

"Are you okay, Danchou?"

"A little," he says, panting. He throws his head back and lets his dark hair hang loosely for a while.

"You don't seem okay to me." She studies the map again and makes scribbles in the corners. Sensing that the Spider head is uncomfortable, she offers her smoothie to him. "Care for some?"

"Thanks." Chrollo sips as he leans over her shoulder. His eyes narrow at the strange words. He does not recognize the words, or the language. "You could read what it says?"

"Sure." She nods, pointing a forefinger to one word. "Desara City. Can't you _read_ , Danchou?"

"Not this language, no." A small smile forms across his lips. He ignores the country's heat and instead focuses on the young woman. He points to another word, asks for its meaning, and gets an answer. He bobs his head in fascination. "Incredible, Val. Well done."

She snatches her smoothie before he could finish it. She takes a sip, her lips pouting. "Has Shalnark-san called out yet? We've been waiting for an hour, you know."

He checks his phone. There is no signal in this desert city in the middle of nowhere. "This might take a while," he says. He pulls the map so that the length of it lays across on both of their laps, and starts pinpointing words and asking their meanings. Better to play games than focus on the crippling heat.

After a while of lounging in the airport's lobby, his phone vibrates.

Chrollo stands and offers his hand to her. His other hand pulls at their luggage bag. "Shal is waiting for us at the entrance. He has a car running for us."

Upon exiting the airport, a strong gust of hot air and sand blows at their faces. Their pale cheeks are flushed with color from the intense heat. Despite their discomfort, a bright and cheerful face comes to greet them.

"Danchou! Valtiel!"

"Shalnark-san!"

Instead of Chrollo walking to meet with his Spider, it is Valtiel who breaks into a run and throws herself into Shalnark's open arms. The bubbly Spider bends down and catches her around the waist, and then spins her around so joyfully as if they are children, their laughter ringing in the expanse of the bleak desert. Once Shalnark sets her back to her feet, he smiles and pats her on the head.

Hands in his pockets, Chrollo silently walks up to them.

"We missed you," Valtiel says.

"I missed you both!" Shalnark chirps, not at all disturbed by the heat. His green eyes blink at his leader's appearance and he compares his look to the young woman. He smiles broadly. "Matching clothes, I see! Relationship goals or something?"

Chrollo wears an indigo robe with sleeves so long they go past his arms. The fabric, hiding his brown sandals, covers his feet. He has a simple indigo veil around his neck and over his head. Beside him, Valtiel wears a feminine version of Chrollo's otherwise simple garb; her indigo robe has intricate golden embroideries dancing around the chest and collar, and her veil has the same golden embroideries and is sewed with brown-and-gold sequins around the edges. Standing side-by-side, they could pass for the natives of this country.

"Do you have what I asked for?" Chrollo goes down to business at once.

"All ready, Danchou!" Shalnark escorts them to the waiting car. He takes the driver's seat while the pair shuffles into the backseats. He rearranges the rearview mirror to glance at them. "It wasn't really easy to find him, though. I had to exhaust the use of my Hunter License to track him down to this place."

"Where is he now?"

"Phinks and Feitan are watching over him, but I am sure he can't put up a fight."

"Ah! That reminds me." Valtiel leans over to the younger Spider's side. "Have you finished selling the Scarlet Eyes yet?"

"Sure!" He grins at her as he drives. Again, he glances to the mirror at Chrollo. "I bet my team would win the game. Our every calculations were precise. And I have the best team members, too!"

"I don't doubt it," Chrollo agrees, smiling. "But I also have the reason to believe that my team has done very well. My partner is extremely reliable, I could not ask for a better one." He smiles down at Valtiel's beaming face, though deep inside, guilt still eats at him. They have not spoken about the incident with the prince since it happened almost two weeks ago.

"It'd be a hard competition for sure," Shalnark says. "Paku's team is also very competitive."

"I think we all did well," Valtiel chimes in as she sets back on her seat and leans against Chrollo's arm.

The car follows the straight pathway that connects the airport to the nearest sprawling metropolis city with towering glass buildings that refracts the sun's beams into colorful arrays across the sands. Entering the city requires a pass, and Shalnark, having already stuck an antenna at one of the guards, weaves their car through three security checkpoints without difficulty.

The citizens of Desara City are dressed in the same indigo clothes as Chrollo and Valtiel, though theirs are more traditional, looking ironic for such an upscale city. In bird's eye view, the city would look more like a sea of deep blue amidst the desert, like a mirage. Valtiel reads something from the tour guide and translates a long word into "Blue People".

Shalnark hums a happy tune as the car swerves towards the southern part of the city, near the desert's mountains. He stops the car in front of a temple's yawning mouth, supported at the sides by sandstone rock pillars. The floors are smooth with a flagstone pathway, leading downwards to a black abyss.

"He is here?" Chrollo asks, observing the entire structure.

"Yes. Turns out he is a monk cast away from his home, so he stays here. Shall we?"

"Let's go."

The three of them enter through the high entrance, following the pathway that slopes downwards. Unlike outside, the interior of the temple is cool and soothing. Old desks and bookshelves made from the same sandstone rocks are reduced to rubbles and are littered across the dim room. According to Valtiel's translation of the guide, the place has been abandoned for nearly a hundred years, the government more in favor of funding Desara City's skyscrapers than their scholars' educations.

At the end of the hallway, Shalnark guides them to another hallway, lower and narrower than the previous one. It allows one person to walk at the time, forcing the three of them into one file.

The alleyway stretches for a hundred meters, leading them further underground. Then, they emerge and find themselves in an underground church and cemetery. Gravestones of sandstone rocks stand erected and polished, and carved with the same foreign language. At the head of the chamber, a large altar dominates the northern wall. The wall depicts a sun goddess holding a scepter and a crown in both hands.

"Heh. Took you long enough," Phinks says by way of greeting as he pushes himself off the wall. He wears a white long-sleeve tunic and a red necklace. An elaborate golden snake piece sits not far from him.

"Finally, we can start," Feitan agrees. He sits on the far side of the cemetery, cross-legged over a large mausoleum with wilted flowers on the ground. "Made us wait five hours."

"Come on now. Sheesh!" Shalnark scratches the back of his head. "You know we had to wait for Danchou and Valtiel, right? And give me a break. I was the one driving!"

Feitan's black eyes go from his friend to the young woman. Beneath his skull bandana, he sneers at her traditional Desaran garb. "Oh? She still alive? I thought she be dead after two weeks−or a month at most." He glares at Phinks's direction. "I lost the bet."

Phinks punches the air and whoops. "Hah! Told you she'd last longer! Pay up, Fei!"

Growling, the short thief wires the payment into the other's account. Phinks's phone beeps.

Chrollo holds up a hand, his voice a mixture of confused, aghast and amused. "You _bet_ against each other to see if Valtiel would still be alive?"

"S-Something like that… Danchou…" Phinks rubs his nape, sheepish.

"How much?" Chrollo asks.

"Five million Jenny." Then Phinks hides his face behind a large hand.

"Oh." Chrollo looks back and forth between his ashamed Spiders and an offended Valtiel. He offers her a small, reassuring smile, and then turns to his Spiders with a devious smirk. "You should have informed me. I would have raised the stakes."

"Wha−?!" Valtiel gasps, pounding on his chest. "That's rude!"

Shalnark clutches his stomach as he laughs. "No need to be offended, Val! Turns out, you're tougher than what Feitan gives you credit for! The rest of the Troupe should be impressed!" He checks to see if Feitan is brooding at his loss. He gets a large chunk of gravestone hurled at his direction, and Shalnark dodges to Phinks's side, the both of them laughing like drunkards in a tavern.

Feitan rolls his eyes and digs both hands in his pockets. "Should we going down to business, Danchou?"

"Oh, you're right." The amused smile on Chrollo's face vanishes as he clears his throat and dons a composed demeanor. Dark eyes search through the faces of his Spiders, and then lands on the lone figure hunched underneath the sun goddess's image. "You must be Maxios, am I correct?"

The hunched monk shakes as he desperately tries to lift his chin and look up at the strangers. He wears the same indigo robes, though his veil is a deep shade of gold, draped across his bald head and skeletal body. He has a gold staff laid across his bony knees.

Chrollo steps forward. "Well, are you Maxios?"

"I am," comes the deep, shaky voice. "And you are here to rewrite memories…?"

"Yes." Concerned of the monk's choice of words, the Spider leader glances over his shoulder and finds Valtiel standing between Shalnark and Phinks. Her eyebrows are furrowed, her lips pursed. If he wants to erase that suspicious look on her face, he has to work fast. He kneels before the monk and whispers in his ear, "Can you do such a thing?"

"I used to," Maxios answers. "It brought nothing but hatred and hurt to people."

"Believe me: I have no qualms about hatred or pain." Chrollo grabs the monk by the neck and harshly slams him onto the wall.

Valtiel gasps and rushes to stop him−but Shalnark grabs her wrist and shakes his head.

Chrollo leans his face close to the ancient monk, seeing the break of the old man's skin and his blood to ooze from the cut. He adjusts his thumb, pressing against the faint pulse there. Maxios wheezes and thrashes feebly against the man's hold. With narrowed eyes, Chrollo presses even harder, his nail biting into skin, drawing more blood. "You will do as I say, if you value your life at all."

Maxios wheezes again, reminding the Spiders of a fish out of water. "Yes−" the monk hisses, his small arms wrapped around Chrollo's wrist, clawing at the skin there. "I will− I will do as you s-say−"

Chrollo abruptly drops the monk, watching him squirm and couch on the ground. "Good decision," he commends with an appreciative nod. He doesn't have it all day to negotiate with a stubborn monk. He looks over his shoulder again and meets with Valtiel's displeased face. He ignores her.

"I need the author and the subject seated across from each other," Maxios instructs after he has recovered.

"Looks like you're up, doll face." Phinks leads Valtiel to sit on the ground, while Chrollo sits at arm's length away on the other side, with Feitan standing close behind him.

"Now, I need both of you to relax," the monk says.

Chrollo takes a deep, calming breath. Valtiel is pale and unmoving.

At the center, a white aura engulfs Maxios. The Spiders admire the smooth flow of his aura, while the young woman is as clueless as non-users could get. The aura sends a gust of wind inside the chamber, stirring dust and sand. Slowly, Maxios conjures four items and lays them on the floor in front of him−a book, a fountain pen, balance scale with large glasses, and a needlepoint silver blade. His droopy grey eyes land on the young woman, sensing her discomfort and confusion and feeling already sorry for her.

"First, the author needs to extract the subject's blood," Maxios instructs again.

"W-What for?" Valtiel asks, unable to mask the creeping fear in her voice.

"Everything would be alright," Chrollo assures her and smiles tenderly.

"Take the blade and cut her with it. Anywhere is fine."

With a trained hand, Chrollo reaches out for the blade while Valtiel reluctantly offers her right arm. They stare at each other's eyes for a while, with Chrollo's dark eyes asking for permission and apology. Biting her lower lip, Valtiel gives her consent, trusting him more than she trusts herself.

The slash cuts quick and deep across her wrist. Blood immediately follows, dripping to the sand that licks up every drop like a thirsty quicksand. Maxios catches the next droplets with the book and pulls it back to show Chrollo. The blood twists and forms into familiar symbols−the alphabet−and lists Valtiel's personal information in complete details.

Like a hungry vulture, Chrollo's eyes rake through the information. He carefully avoids reading her real name; to him, she is no one else but Valtiel. Instead, he focuses on other things:

 _Age: 18_

 _Birthday: November 5_

 _Hair: Platinum blonde_

 _Eyes: Gold (Scarlet)_

 _Blood Type: AB_

"This is my ability, called the Lion's Perfect Expressive Power," Maxios explains, not for his benefit, but for theirs, since Feitan points the end of his sword inches from his left ear. He gulps wearily. "I conjure these items that are crucial into rewriting someone's memory. I need two people to do it: the author, who rewrites the memories according to his wishes, and the subject, whose memories are being rewritten."

"Ah, then you're also a Specialist," Chrollo hums.

"Y-Yes, that's right." Maxios peeps at Valtiel, sensing her utter confusion.

"Speak more," Feitan growls, pressing the sword on the skin of the monk's temple.

"The-The author has the freedom to rewrite certain memories of the subject, though a heavy price must be paid by both parties." Maxios gestures at the balance scales with glasses. "The author must pay the price of blood by using the blade to cut himself, and pour his blood into the glass. Once done, you can use the fountain pen and use your own blood to rewrite the memories written in the book."

"Use his own blood as ink?" Phinks snorts. "That's one fucked up ability."

"You'll be fine," Shalnark whispers in Valtiel's ear. "Danchou knows what he's doing."

 _Does he?_ Valtiel clutches her bleeding wrist. Chrollo must have a good reason why he needs to rewrite her memories. Perhaps she is too slow in remembering that he has given up on her; found her slow and pathetic that he could no longer bear her scrambling for memories. It is possible. That is why they are now asking this monk's help to regain her lost memories. She searches for Chrollo's eyes and finds them. _Do you know what you're doing, Danchou?_

Maxios gestures for the book in Chrollo's hand. "It narrates everything about her life, from the moment she is born up to now. The more you want to rewrite the memories, the more you need to pay blood."

"Though it only rewrites memories, not change the past itself?" Chrollo wonders.

"Yes. The past can never be changed, but the memories can."

"So, all Danchou needs to do is put some blood in that glass, then write in the book?" Phinks repeats as he crouches beside Valtiel. His eyes linger on the wounded wrist, stubbornly bleeding onto the sands. "And that makes doll face here free now?"

"By all means, no." Maxios shakes his head apologetically. "She needs to shed the same amount of blood as the author. Whether she is willing to have her memories rewritten or not, she has to pay the price."

Valtiel tenses, gripping her wrist tighter. _How long does Danchou intend to do this?_ She feels a sudden weight on her left shoulder, and looks up at Phinks's face. But he is not looking back at her; he is glaring at the monk. She relishes his presence and leans against him, her shoulder on his arm.

Chrollo's lips spread into a handsome smile as he browses through the written past. He learns of the many aspects of the extinct Kurta culture and traditions, their way of life and family, the secrets shared between family members. He learns that they had always moved from one place to another, throwing the scent of treasure hunters off their Scarlet Eyes. Most importantly, he learns of Valtiel's family−her linguist father, her lost mother, no siblings, and her grandfather, the clan's Elder.

At this piece of information, he stops. The smile vanishes in an instant. He remembers the Elder: how the old man had begged for the children's lives, discarding his own safety. Chrollo admits that the Elder was brave and wise and selfless. To think that Valtiel is actually his granddaughter−Chrollo shakes his head and continues reading.

He reads the part of her early childhood, and takes most of his time there. His eyes linger on every word, committing them in his mind. Then comes Valtiel's teenaged years: the blossoming of her friendship with everyone in the clan, though he notices that she was closest to two boys much younger than she was. Again, he remembers their names−Kurapika and Pairo. Another name comes up−Tokuga−and according to the book he was her intended husband.

Righteous fury bursts out of Chrollo, frowning at the name. Tokuga. Did they kill him? Most likely, though Chrollo wants to feel the pleasure of killing the man, instead of only remembering that he is dead.

Taking up the fountain pen, he turns to Maxios. "What should I do next?"

"Cut yourself with the blade, use the blood as your ink." Maxios gulps again as Feitan's sword presses on his skin. Turning to his right, he meets with Valtiel's terrified look. "Yourself, too, Miss. You have to cut yourself with the same blade."

"Does she have to do it by herself?" Shalnark pipes up.

"Not necessarily. One of you can do it for her."

The three other Spiders shoot each other awkward glances. No one wants to slash deeper on the young woman's skin, not when she is weak and feeble like this. Shalnark feels mean about it, while Phinks feels it would be like bullying a little girl, and that's not him. That leaves only Feitan. The dark-haired thief actually sniggers and flexes his fingers in preparation.

"I will do it," Chrollo interrupts. Feitan's shoulder drops in defeat.

"It will only hurt a little, trust me." Shalnark squeezes Valtiel's free hand as she offers the other to Chrollo.

Their eyes meet again. Gold upon grey. They do not avoid eye contact even as Chrollo embeds the blade deep into her skin, slicing through flesh. Valtiel's arm jerks at the sharp pain; she bites her lip again to keep herself from grunting or crying out. Chrollo guides her arm over the glass and lets the wound bleed freely.

He is dimly aware that he is scarring his own treasure, but what are stolen Nen abilities for if not for this?

Then he does the same to himself, untroubled by neither pain nor worry. His wounded wrist hovers above the glass and waits for it to stop bleeding for a moment. Once it stops, he starts writing on the book's pages.

Maxios nods. "Your blood will overwhelm hers, allowing you to rewrite her memories. The more blood you two sacrifice, the more effective. However, you must remember a human's capacity to shed blood. Extensive rewriting would result in extreme blood loss, or maybe even death."

Chrollo works on the book, writing with swift, elegant strokes. He narrates his childhood memories and adds Valtiel into them, just like the night when he told her that she was also from Meteor City, that she was also their friend. With each memory, he bleeds Valtiel into them−playing hide-and-seek, scouring for leftovers, humming made-up songs, and so forth. He uses his blood to write over the details of her past: her once loving parents and grandfather are turned into nothingness. She is, after all, now an orphan born in Meteor City. He writes his name and the Spiders' name over the names of her closest friends.

The more he writes, the more Valtiel slips into unconsciousness.

Valtiel groans. She clutches at Phinks's arm and buries her face into his sleeve. She pants in ragged breaths, the blood on her wrist continuously flowing, staining her rich indigo robes.

"H-Hey!" Phinks puts an arm around her shoulders, cradling her. He venomously growls at the monk. "What the hell, man?!"

"It is part of the process," Maxios explains with all the calmness he could muster. "The new memories affect the subject, most especially the mind. The mind tries its hardest to keep up with the wave of new memories."

"Oh, I see," Shalnark murmurs.

"What?!" Phinks bellows. "What is it?"

"It's like her brain is losing oxygen, that's why she's losing consciousness." Shalnark nods to Valtiel's pale face and open mouth, which takes heavy breaths. "That, and the fact that she is losing too much blood for an ordinary person."

Feitan scoffs. "Right. She is only ordinary human, after all. Danchou can endure days with extreme blood loss, but this little girl here cannot. She die before we can leave this place." He smiles in triumph. "Phinks, remember the bet. If she die today, I get my five million back."

Phinks snarls. "Fine, I got you, Fei. You and your stupid five million. Geez!"

"Aren't you done yet, Danchou?" Shalnark asks, somewhat concerned now. This is the third time they have to slash across the wrist and drip blood onto the awaiting glasses. He peeps at Valtiel's unmoving figure, still cradled by Phinks. "She's too pale, she's losing a lot of blood."

"Almost done." Chrollo's calm voice does not match the determined expression on his face. His eyebrows are knitted together as his hand writes furiously page after page. Should he lose his ink, he snatches the blade and slashes deeply again. Shalnark then takes the blade to cut deeper onto Valtiel's wrist, while Phinks holds her wound over the glass. "Just a few more…"

"Hurry, young man," Maxios voices out. "She's running out of time."

"How about you shut up?" Feitan hisses.

Chrollo comes to the part where a young boy takes a series of exams. Glancing at Valtiel's condition, he decides to breeze through the details and focuses instead on the night of the massacre. He makes some adjustments, fitting his lies to his words. The next events focus on her and the Spiders. He decides to leave it as it is, and flips the pages to the last ones. He reads the part where the Kakin prince assaulted her. That, too, should stay. Despite everything, pain and fear are good teachers.

The last page consists of today's events, from their departure from the airport to their arrival in the city and meeting the monk. Instead of meeting Maxios, he writes that he and Valtiel merely travelled here to meet with Shalnark's team.

He finishes with a tired sigh and looks expectantly at Maxios.

The monk purses his lips. "It is finished," he says without warmth. He takes the book and the fountain pen from Chrollo, and then the blade from Shalnark. Feitan backs away with his sword. "The changes will take effect in the next twenty four hours. That should be enough time for you lads to take her to a hospital for treatment."

"And Valtiel?" Chrollo prompts. "What happens when she wakes?"

"She will remember everything you have written in the book." He taps the book's hardbound cover. "If you skipped some parts, she would remember those as well. No need to worry. My ability is perfect."

"Tch. You sound too cocky for a monk, you know," Phinks barks at him.

"Oh, there's no doubt in that." Chrollo smiles and turns to Shalnark. "How long has it been since we started?"

Shalnark checks the timer that he has started. "Fifty-six minutes and eighteen seconds."

Chrollo removes the indigo veil around his shoulders and wraps it around his open wound. Once done with that, he envelops himself in aura and conjures a book as well. Maxios cowers underneath him, held back by Feitan around the neck. The short thief forces the monk down with one clawed hand.

"My turn now," Chrollo says. "All I need you do it is put your hand on my book's cover."

"Is this some sort of trick?" Maxios's voice trembles.

"Just do as he says." Feitan's claws dig into his neck. "Hurry up."

Still trembling, Maxios puts his right hand on the book and feels the surge of aura leaving his body. He feels light and rather empty. The conjured items of his abilities vanish into thin air. The sudden hollowness in his body makes his body weak and he falls almost lifelessly to the floor, like a marionette without his puppet master's strings. He opens his mouth to speak, but his voice comes out in a harsh wheeze.

Chrollo smiles down on him as the book disappears in his hand. "Thank you for your cooperation. You should not worry; you are not going to die. The effects should wear off in a few hours."

Shalnark jumps to his feet and stretches his limbs. "Where should we go next, Danchou?"

"The hospital?" Phinks suggests. He carries the unconscious girl in bridal style as Chrollo approaches. The leader's fingers move the veil off her face and brush across her bloodless lips. "Uh−Danchou?"

"Call the others. Tell them the venue for the meet up has changed." Chrollo withdraws his hand and starts walking across the gravestones and towards the alleyway. Feitan ambles behind him. "Tell them we will meet at Desara City at ten in the evening, on New Year's Eve. Anyone whose team member fails to show up would be automatically disqualified from the game."

"Got it, Danchou!" Shalnark sets to work on his phone.

Phinks falls in stride with their leader. "So, what're we gonna do with her?"

Chrollo barely glances at Valtiel. He nods to the other Spider instead. "Feitan, you go ahead to the city and find us some good place to stay. We would wait for you here in an hour."

"I'm on it." With a swish of his dark robes, Feitan is gone.

"So, about _the_ little kiddo here−?" Phinks tries again, shifting the girl in his arms.

"You seem so concerned about her well-being, Phinks," Chrollo observes with a teasing hint in his voice. His dark eyes flash mischievously at his friend. "Is there anything I should know?"

"Wh-Wh-What a-are you suggesting, Danchou?!" Phinks sputters, turning bright red. "I am not concerned about her well-being! N-Not in the slightest! I just don't want to lose my five million back to Fei, okay?!"

Chrollo only chuckles, while Shalnark looks up from his phone and grins.

"Danchou, doesn't he sound like he has a crush on Val?"

"That's true." Chrollo turns his head to hide his snicker. "I'll have you know that I don't tolerate competition, Phinks."

"Oh, my _god_ , you guys," Phinks grumbles.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Oof. Chrollo takes the word "possessive" to a hundredfold of levels. If given the chance to say something to him, I'd probably say, "I'm worried about you (and probably Val)." Homeboy gotta stop doing some creepy things to people, really.

Also, I most especially enjoyed writing the Trouble Trio here! Shal, Feitan, and Phinks hold a very special place in my heart. It's nice to write them again after a while since their disappearance, and to have them interact with Valtiel again. Shal's in his usualy bubbly self, Fei gotta stop wishing people dead, and Phinks be the forever gentleman in this chaotic group. (－‸ლ)

* **xenocanaan** \- Yay, thank you!

* **AwkwardBlackCat** \- Glad that you think Tserried's portrayal is alright! Chrollo made many miscalculations that night, indeed. He's lost a bit of "Touch Valtiel" privileges for a few nights, but little missy here can't say no to hugs and chocolates. Ugh. Val needs to get her priorities straight!

* **Amy** \- Thank you! And yes, they're getting attached (quite literally) to each other by now. Chrollo seems to have hugs and kisses in plenty this time around. Haha! In fact, it does make me worry. I also hoped you enjoyed the sorta fluff here as well! *wink wonk*

* **Mia Mena** \- Sorry it took some time to update, but here it is! Thank you for taking time to review! I'm very happy to know that someone else enjoys reading this story.

Once again, thank you very much for everyone who's read, favorited/followed. and reviewed this story. It means so much to me, especially with the holidays coming up. Since it's really Christmas season now, this would be the last chapter for some time, seeing as I will be busy for the celebrations. I hope everyone also enjoy their holidays! Have a very merry Christmas, my friends! 🎄❤️


	13. Chapter XIII

**Chapter XIII**

* * *

"I have a favor to ask everyone," Chrollo begins.

He stands at the top of the staircase and looks down on his Spiders gathered before him. They had arrived in Desara City earlier than expected, though he does not mind at all. He is pleased to see them all again after three months, brief though it may seem. His grey eyes meet everyone's eager faces as he lets the silence hang in the hotel's lobby. He notices that Nobunaga's team has not yet arrived. Pity.

"Two days ago, I enlisted the help of a Desaran monk. He had the abilities to rewrite memories, which I used upon Valtiel," Chrollo narrates, choosing the quickest explanation possible. "The ability could only do much: it can rewrite memories but not the past." He could see how Uvogin's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "With Valtiel as a test subject, I made it possible that the memories she would remember are not those of her past with the Kurta Clan, but with us−everyone of us. So if she asks something and reminisces something about our childhood in Meteor City, you will all endeavor to lie to her and convince that her memories are real."

Again, his eyes roam around for violent reactions from the Spiders. He receives none, but Uvogin scratching the back of his spiky hair and Pakunoda nodding to Yuan. "May I count on you?" Chrollo asks.

Uvogin raises a hand. "So, that's it then? She's one of us now?"

Chrollo closes his eyes and nods. "Yes."

"But her memories are fake? She remembers _fake_ memories?"

"That's right."

Uvogin grins wide, canines showing. "That's mean, Danchou."

Phinks crosses his arms over his chest. "Better that than having her remember the Kurta insects," he says with an annoyed snort. "Can't have her asking questions too hard to answer. Lying should be easier."

"And less of a hassle," Franklin agrees.

"I am counting on everyone," Chrollo says, and then pauses, hand on his chin, as if a thought suddenly crosses his mind. "She is extremely curious though. I don't doubt these new memories would raise so many questions," he warns them. "Her curiosity might overwhelm you, but try to act as naturally as you can."

"We can take care of that," Shalnark chirps.

"Don't worry!" Uvogin flashes him a thumbs-up sign. "We got your back!"

"Thank you, everyone." With that, Chrollo turns on his heels and heads back further inside the hotel.

It was Feitan's freedom to choose which building the Troupe should take as their temporary base for their meeting. Knowing Feitan and his sadistic tendencies, he had chosen one of the most populous buildings in the city−Sapphire Desara Hotel−and massacred the employees and guests, and stuffed their broken bodies in the indoor swimming pool. He returned to the temple an hour later, his dark robes stained by darker red, his claws still dripping with fresh blood and torn flesh. Thanks to his _efforts_ , the Phantom Troupe has now a luxurious seventy-story hotel as their base.

Chrollo had chosen the most elegant of the master suites−easily. It looks more like a royal bedroom than a master suite: all red-and-gold accents, from the velvet curtains and ropes, wallpaper and carpet, a set of three golden chandeliers, and a king-sized canopy bed. The room is dazzling to his trained eyes, but he loves the room's balcony the best of all. It overlooks the desert city and its indigo-clad people. More than that, it faces west, giving him the best view to watch the setting sun.

Too bad the weather only cools at night.

He opens the door and lets himself inside the room. He shrugs off his black coat and hangs it over one of the chairs present. Next he fumbles with the buttons of his white shirt, undoing them down to his sternum, revealing a muscular torso. He looks to the bed, finding his treasure not there. "Valtiel?"

Balcony. Of course, she should be there. He runs fingers through his raven hair, grown too wild and messy for his own and Pakunoda's liking that she herself asked to trim the bangs and back for him. Laughing, Chrollo had declined the offer.

He steps into the sun-kissed semi-circular balcony and rests his chin on her right shoulder. She is watching a long line of camels passing by on the horizon. He watches, too. "How are you feeling?"

"Just fine. A little strange, perhaps."

"Strange?"

"My head aches, though I don't know why."

"Must be the weather." Hell knows his head aches from the heat. "We are not made for the desert."

She grins at his vexation. It has been going on since they arrived. "Speak for yourself, Danchou. I like the sun, but I think I like the rain even better." She turns around and faces him, her hands pushing at his chest lightly. "Are the others here yet?"

He steps away from her and leans a forearm on the railing. "Some. Nobunaga's team is rather late."

"Shouldn't we be worried?"

"There's nothing to be worried about. Nobunaga is strong, and so are Machi and Omokage."

"I am not strong," Valtiel observes in a quiet voice. The breeze picks up, stirring her platinum blonde hair that Shalnark had helpfully tied into a loose ponytail after she collapsed. It is still loose, locks framing her face, a thin silk ribbon of light green tying the mess together.

"That's why I am here," Chrollo murmurs, his eyes on the reddening horizon.

She scoffs, unimpressed. "It would be nice to be strong on my own, not relying on you."

An amused curl on his lips. "You've done well relying on me for the past three months."

Her body jerks towards him, her expression screaming that she does not agree. But one look at Chrollo's smug smirk and the playful gleam in his eyes makes her reconsider: because he is right. She has relied on him for far too long, doing everything he bids her. Why ever not? When the world is a confusing shambles and her memories are only of a dark place.

The fight drains out of her system and she slumps, her hip against the railing, arms over her chest. Her right arm is still bandaged from the car accident she and Chrollo had two days ago. Reminded of that, she plans to thank Shalnark and Phinks for saving them.

Chrollo speaks after minutes of comfortable silence. "Remember the time when we fished for food in a frozen lake back home?"

At once, her face brightens at the memory. "And Nobu-san slipped and fell?" They laugh at that, though Chrollo's laugh is more reserved as his eyes observe her from his dark lashes. Valtiel's smile widens, warmed at the thought. "And when he fell, he actually caught some frogs."

"That was a tasty dinner."

"It was!" she beams, laughing. "And he was rubbing that into our faces for the entire week."

"But the dinner only lasted for one night," Chrollo adds with a fond smile. "Uvo got most of them."

They speak mostly of their shared childhood, with Chrollo testing the waters on each memory. He carefully mentions the memories he had written into hers, overwhelming her childhood with the Kurta Clan. So far, his hypothesis is correct and it seems he has no need to worry.

A knock on the door stops their conversation. Skipping, Valtiel answers the call and smiles at Pakunoda. The blonde older woman smiles back and puts her head round the door. Pakunoda whistles, admiring the extravagant room compared to her simple double room.

Chrollo steps out of the balcony. "Paku, what can we do for you?"

"Team Nobunaga has just arrived, Danchou."

"Have they now?" He glances at the ornate wall clock. It is almost eight in the evening−too early to start. "It should do just fine. Can you send Yuan and Uvogin for a supply run?" He turns to the other. "Val, is there something you would like to eat for New Year's Eve?"

She looks up at the ceiling, thinking. "I think I'll have a chocolate cake!"

Pakunoda smiles at them both. "Anything for you, Danchou?"

"No, thank you. I am good with anything."

"Okay. I'll relay the order."

"And tell them we would start in two hours."

"Roger that." Pakunoda shuts the door behind her.

Valtiel stretches her limbs high above her head as she walks back to the bed. She finds Chrollo lazing on his side, legs crossed over the mattress, his black shoes discarded to the floor. It leaves him with only his socks, and his toes wiggle as he finds his bookmark and falls silent. She stares at him for a while, and then smirks deviously as an idea comes to mind.

Like a child jumping into a pool, she dives face first onto the bed. Chrollo bounces along with the mattress.

"What was that for?" he grunts, picking up his bookmark.

"Nothing." She lays flat on her stomach and snatches his pillow from underneath his stretched legs. She clutches it between her arms and head, and closes her eyes. "I'm hungry."

"You will eat when everyone eats."

"When is that?"

"When Uvo and Yuan return with the supplies."

"But you said we're not starting until two hours later. That's too long."

"You just finished _my_ share of the pudding." He sighs at the sad memory of his pudding going to her. One of the many perks of staying in this hotel is that it has a great supply of puddings for the guests. Uvogin and Phinks had wagered earlier which one can eat most pudding. The rest fell into Valtiel's hands.

"No need to resent me for that," she says, chiding.

He hums, mostly to himself. He combs his bangs to the side, mentally noting whether he should take Pakunoda's offer or not. Perhaps he should. His hair grows thick and fast anyway.

She yawns, burying her face into his pillow. "What are you reading?"

A shuffle of the book. She peeps one eye and frowns. "The works of Han Feizi?" she says with distaste.

"You sound like you hate it," he observes with a quiet chuckle, though he did not miss the way her body stiffens upon reading the book's title. There is something he is missing here, something Valtiel is loathe to share to him. He decides to be neutral about it. "Have you read his works?"

"Just breezed through it for a while," she says. "Read it to me, Danchou."

"Which part?"

"Anything you like."

"I like the majority of the book," he points out, but flips through the pages to find something he found the most interesting. "Han Feizi was a philosopher who focused on warfare period of his country. According to him, warring kings and generals commit ten faults."

Valtiel hums, thinking back on her disastrous night with the Kakin prince. Perhaps the next time they see each other, she could converse with him more about Han Feizi−though she is really not looking forward for that time to come. She needs to be stronger, not in the same incredulous tier as Uvogin or Phinks, but in a subtle, more practical way. She peers at Chrollo's smiling face and wonders if he meant what he said earlier. Does she really have him for strength?

His serene voice, reading most of the chapter, lulls her to sleep.

* * *

Two hours later, Chrollo wakes her with a soft nudge. "Time to get ready."

Across the bedroom, the Spider head fixes his white shirt and buttons them all back to his throat. He leaves his black coat, and then stuffs his sock-covered feet back to his shoes. Sleepily, Valtiel scratches her hair and lets it more loosely than before, falling in lazy ringlets over her back. She wears a short navy blue kimono with long sleeves and white floral patterns.

"Come on." He holds the door open for her. "Let's go to work."

"You mean celebrate?" She brushes past him, smiling over her shoulder. "It is New Year's Eve, yes?"

"Of course." He leads her across the hallway, similarly extravagant as their room. The Troupe's meeting is set to take place in the bar on the hotel's rooftop. He heard from Shalnark earlier that there is also a rooftop pool to enjoy. Tonight should be interesting.

Arriving at the rooftop, the pair is beset with Nobunaga's loud complaints.

"Thirty hours worth of travel time!" The samurai is roaring, seated cross-legged on one of the bar's colorful plush seats. He has his sword across his knees. "Thirty hours and Omokage here doesn't even sleep!"

"I was merely admiring someone from afar," the puppeteer says in his defense. He sits across the samurai, perched on a barstool.

Pakunoda is serving drinks while Shalnark is hacking into the bar's music system. Two seconds later, a loud party music blasts through the speakers mounted on the wall.

Bonolenov caresses his head. "What is it with this _awful_ music, Shal?"

Shalnark emerges from behind the counter and gives a cheerful laugh. "Why not, Bono? It's modern! This is what young adults like me, Paku, Machi and even Valtiel should listen to!"

The other man shakes his head. "Still, it is very awful and the words make no sense."

"Just change it, Shal." Phinks takes a large gulp of his alcoholic drink, and slams the glass on the counter.

"Aww, but I only just tweaked it into this," Shalnark whines.

"Then you can take that up to Danchou." Phinks raises his glass to where their leader and the Kurta girl are entering. He nods his acknowledgement to their arrival and clinks his glass with Kortopi's.

"About time!" Nobunaga jumps to his feet and starts another series of complaints.

"All right." Chrollo absentmindedly agrees to everything that the samurai is complaining about−from the last minute transaction to the tedious thirty-hour flight from across the world to Omokage's creepy stares at the women in the blimp, and even to the blimp's smelly bathroom. "Okay, I get it, Nobunaga. It is a shame that you have to go through all those things. Where are the others?"

"Right here!" Uvogin heaves himself from the pool and stands proudly only in his boxer shorts.

Chrollo puts a protective hand over Valtiel's innocent eyes. "Put on some clothes first, Uvo."

Feitan hisses, his dark bandana pulled down for once. "Yes, that's _unsightly_ , Uvogin."

The tallest Spider rolls his eyes and makes a grab for the nearest towel. "No need to be jealous of how well-endowed I am, Fei," he shoots back with a pointed smirk, comparing his massive build to Feitan's short and lean body.

The entire rooftop rattles with suggestive laughs and snickers. Feitan growls and chugs another drink with Phinks and Kortopi. On the other side, Shalnark changes the music into another song−still modern, but with a more mellow tone and calm lyrics. Bonolenov raises his glass in approval.

With the first round of playful banter over, Chrollo takes up the head of the bar, sitting on the central barstool, while his Spiders gather before him like hushed schoolchildren. Valtiel joins their ranks, sharing a plush chair with Machi and Pakunoda.

"Tonight, our game of steal-and-sell ends," Chrollo begins in his silky yet authoritative voice. "We stole and planned on selling those we have stolen. We agreed that whichever team has received the most payment would get to orchestrate the next course of our mission. Team leaders−" He finds them in the crowd and smirks at them−"time to find out who won our little game."

"Oh, this should be gold," Nobunaga mutters as he stands and joins the four other leaders.

"Bank statements are the only valid proof of our transactions," Chrollo reminds them.

One by one, Shalnark, Pakunoda, Uvogin, Nobunaga and Chrollo himself produce a printed copy of their bank statements and turn them facedown on the counter. Uvogin and Nobunaga are glaring daggers at each other, two best friends at the height of their fierce rivalry; while the three remaining leaders simply smile, all confident that their teams did the best.

Machi speaks from her seat. "Who should declare the winners, Danchou?"

"Well, it cannot be me," he answers. "I am one of the leaders."

"Doll face then," Omokage chimes in from his dim corner. "She should have no solid allegiances as of yet," he adds. He knows about the favor Chrollo asked the others that afternoon, but chooses to ignore it.

"Valtiel should be fine," Phinks adds, belching loudly in Feitan's direction.

"Disgusting," Feitan rasps, poking the end of his umbrella to the blond. Then he turns to their leader and nods his agreement. "If little girl can read, then she reads."

"Of course I can read." Valtiel fires back, shooting him a glare across the room.

Before another brawl could start, Franklin waves a large hand and smiles tenderly at Valtiel. "You go right ahead, Val. Don't mind them," he tells her, and she follows his advice, joining the team leaders up front.

Nobunaga grimaces. "Read it correctly, kid."

Valtiel sticks her tongue out at him, childishly, and the other Spiders snicker at her defiance. She takes up the papers and compares them one after the other. At length, her lips spread into an amused smile. It prompts the team leaders, minus Chrollo−still confidently calm−to lean closer to her.

Pakunoda blinks. "Well, Val?"

Her golden eyes flash at Chrollo's direction. He smiles, giving his permission. "All right, then. Let's start with the third runner-ups." Her statement is met with confusion and furrowed brows. "Two groups happen to collect the same amount of money," she explains. "Here they are. For the third runner-ups: Team Uvogin and Team Nobunaga!"

" **WAIT, WHAT**?!" Nobunaga and Uvogin snatch the papers from her and compare their earnings. No matter how many times they glare back and forth, the numbers remain the same.

"Impossible!" Uvogin roars at his best friend's face. "You cheater!"

"How the heck am I a cheater?" Nobunaga dabs a finger on the other's chest. "Great! Now that just means we are on the same level of _thinking_! That's too less for me!"

Franklin peels them both away from each other before Uvogin ever thinks of using his Big Bang Impact on the rooftop of a seventy-story building. "That's enough, you two," he scolds them. "Suck it up like men and be quiet. You guys are too noisy and childish."

Uvogin looks offended. "Come on, big guy! We are in the same team! You should be on my side!"

"Yes, but we lost so there's nothing we can do about it," Franklin points out, matter-of-fact. He turns back to the young woman and other team leaders. "Keep reading, Val."

"Okay." She sighs, glad of the reprieve. Uvogin and Nobunaga sulk back with the rest of the Spiders. "Our second runner-up…" She looks up from the paper, meeting Pakunoda's brown eyes. "Team Pakunoda."

"Shame," Pakunoda says with a deep breath. She looks at her team members, Yuan and Kortopi, seated beside each other in anticipation. "Sorry, you guys."

Kortopi shakes his head, his mop of blue hair swishing. "It's nothing to be sorry about, Paku."

Yuan, his electric-blue eyes downcast, shrugs. "We did our best," he murmurs.

Patting Valtiel on the wrist as a form of thanks, Pakunoda returns to her seat beside Machi. Her brief touch on the other's skin sends a flurry of memories, too short to comprehend, but she knows she did see Valtiel and Chrollo lounging on their king-sized bed, almost intimate as lovers. She glances at Chrollo, whose attention is focused on the Kurta's next announcement.

"Our winning team−" Valtiel grins, having the gall to wink triumphantly at her leader, who inches forward in anticipation. She feels rather malicious doing this to him but−oh well. "Our winning team... is none other than… Team Shalnark!"

"Wh−" Chrollo sputters, his handsome smile dropping in an instant.

Suddenly, there is Phinks throwing up his glass to the air and letting the beer rain down upon them. He whoops and punches the nearest wall, blasting a large hole through it. He rushes to his team leader and hoists Shalnark over his shoulder, the both of them flashing victory poses. Feitan, in his partner's haste and excitement, gets the brunt of the spilled beer and sniffs at the unpleasant scent clinging on his dark hair and robes. With narrowed eyes, he tackles Phinks on the stomach. Phinks and Shalnark roll to the floor and smash against the seats and tables in the bar. Feitan stands above them, leering.

Thus is the celebratory form of Team Shalnark.

Chrollo, meanwhile, checks the bank statements and narrows his eyes. He knows he should trust Valtiel's judgement, but there is a competitive part of him that actually wants to win. Still, much to his dismay, Shalnark's team accumulated 71.3 billion Jenny to his team's 71.1 billion.

"We lost, Danchou." Valtiel catches his attention by pulling at his shirt's sleeve. "Are you disappointed?"

"No, of course not." Remembering the horror she had to face through alone during their last transaction, how could he be disappointed? He tucks her hair behind her ear. "We did our best. And we had our fun travelling, did we not? I think those are what matters."

"Yes," she says, warming to his touch.

The others are not so accepting.

Nobunaga snorts, hands under his trailing sleeves. "Great! Now we have these idiot three to plan our next mission. Oh, somebody save the Phantom Troupe from getting wrecked."

Machi nudges him with her elbow. "Stop whining about our loss. It makes us look worse."

Omokage opens his mouth to speak, but Nobunaga glares and the puppeteer says no more.

Chrollo clears his throat to stop the ensuing brawl. "Congratulations on your triumph, Shalnark," he says, masking his disappointment with an approving hand gesture. "As per the game's rules, your team has the freedom to choose what we should do for our next mission: the items, the setting, the method. Everyone would follow your orders without questions."

"Actually−" Uvogin raises a hand−"What if their plan doesn't work?"

"We would still push through, Uvo," says Chrollo. "I am sure their team has already planned something."

"We sure have!" Shalnark gleams. He ducks under the counter and starts hacking the music and lighting system again. The music becomes louder, and the lights flash a quiet purple and blue. "We can discuss the details of the mission some other time. Right now, let's celebrate! It's New Year!"

For all their differences, the Spiders agree and start messing around the rooftop.

Pakunoda returns behind the counter and concocts drinks to everyone's taste. She has Bonolenov, Yuan and Chrollo as her customers, seated in one file before her.

The others immediately plunge themselves outside; Uvogin has stripped himself off his clothes and dives into the pool. Nobunaga follows suit, shedding his midnight blue kimono and cannonballs to the cold waters. Machi hisses as the water splashes on her pink leg warmers. She cups a steaming mug of tea in her hands and curls up in one of the outdoor plush seats. Kortopi joins her on the couch, warm in his woolen gloves and beanie.

On the other side of the rooftop, Shalnark goads Phinks and Franklin into another drinking match, his red cellphone capturing every moment of his friends' drunken states. Omokage watches the three of them with glazed black eyes, as he chooses to keep to himself rather than run half-naked like Uvo and Nobunaga do.

Valtiel laughs as she watches Uvogin and Nobunaga try to push each other into the water. Given their strength, it only makes the pool overflow. She crosses the rooftop and settles right beside Omokage, her bright face into his frenzied one. "Are you okay?"

"More than okay," the puppeteer confirms. He dares not to inch closer to the Kurta. Not if he wants to incite the possessiveness their leader has. Omokage did notice that Chrollo's possessiveness turned up a notch after three months. Interesting. "Looks like you settled right in, and very comfortably I might add."

"Why not?" She shrugs her shoulders, eyes still on the splashing pool. In her peripheral vision, Machi is scolding the two men of their rowdy play fights. "There is nowhere else I could be, but here."

"Did Danchou tell you that?" Omokage laughs, his voice more like a wheeze. "How many times did he repeat those same words, how long did it take to convince you?" His black eyes find her golden ones, and for a moment there, he gives her an almost apologetic smile. "You don't know what you are getting yourself into, poppet. The Devil lures his prey with sweet words and promises, letting them indulge in gifts and false affections. The Devil works skillfully, and the prey would never know what entangles them until the very last moment."

Omokage smiles shrewdly, feeling a subtle burst of aura from inside the bar. Even at this distance, he is impressed that Danchou still has his attention on the Kurta. "He will break you," he tells Valtiel. "Maybe not today, not tomorrow−but he will. I can promise you that."

Then he slips away from Valtiel. His grey priest's robes flutter in the cold evening breeze. His long grey hair picks up, looking more like a banner in the wind. When he leaves, Chrollo takes his spot.

"What did he want?" he asks, handing her a platter of chocolate cake.

"Nothing." She accepts the proffered food, humming at the sweet taste. "Says something about Devils."

"Devils?" He almost looks worried. Almost.

"It should mean nothing," she says through a mouthful of the sponge cake, oblivious to his sudden silence. She feels his hand on the small of her back, warming her through her kimono. She tears his attention from her food and Danchou to the shouts of people below the, counting down from ten.

"Looks like it's time," Chrollo muses.

"Time?" She blinks at him. "Time for what?"

Around them, the Spiders gather. Everyone looks expectantly at the midnight skies, empty but for a few silver stars burning bright. Valtiel feels Chrollo's arm snake around her waist, his chest pressed on her back. She follows where their attention is: to the skies.

 _Four… Three… Two… One…_

Dozens of bright fireworks explode on the midnight canvas. They explode in varying colors of yellow, green, red, and blue. Some take the serpentine shapes; others in round and comets and willows. The scent of explosives hangs in the air, though no one seems to mind as everyone jumps and cheers and clinks their glasses to each other and to their leader. Chrollo accepts a glass from Yuan and toasts with his friends, even participating in a drinking game with them.

"Here's to the Phantom Troupe," Chrollo says.

"Hear, hear!" Shalnark cheers.

"More treasures to steal and more kills to count," Feitan adds.

Pakunoda sidesteps the raucous cheering for their leader and hands Valtiel a hot chocolate drink. "Danchou says you're fond of chocolate," she whispers, as the shouts and cheers drown out her voice. Behind her, Uvogin finishes his drink and tosses the glass over the railings. "And that you're not allowed to drink anything alcoholic, so I made you this. I hope you like it."

Valtiel takes a sip and almost melts. She sighs. "I love it. Thank you, Paku-san."

Chrollo finishes his glass, but then Shalnark offers a yard of ale. Politely, he shakes his head. The offer then goes to Phinks, who rolls up his tracksuit sleeves and sets to drink himself to stupor.

"That was a scary sight," Valtiel comments when Chrollo returns to her side. His pale cheeks are flushed from both the alcohol and the excitement. She has never seen him this animated before. "You look like trash," she chides, ruffling his raven bangs. "You should shower."

"Are you ordering the leader of the Phantom Troupe around?" he muses, one perfect eyebrow raised.

"I would if he looks like garbage."

"Tonight is a special occasion. Which reminds me, Val…" He puts her chocolate drink down on the railing and wraps his arms around her, her own arms trapped between them in the embrace. His warm breath is on her ear, lips ghosting over the lobe. "Happy New Year, dearest."

She sighs in defeat and lays her cheek upon his chest, listening to his heart. "Happy New Year, Danchou."

The Spiders suddenly fall silent at the display of intimacy. Nobunaga is trying his hardest not to look, but ends up faking a retch and turns to Machi. Machi, disgusted, shoves his face away from her. Omokage smirks, Uvogin and Kortopi spare awkward glances at each other. Somewhere from behind, Shalnark's phone flashes, capturing the moment.

A drunk Phinks smashes the yard glass to the floor, cups his hands to his mouth, and chants: "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Feitan bonks him on the head. "Shut it, you drunken wuss."

Chrollo notices the awkward silence and smiles innocently at his friends. Valtiel remains entrapped in his arms, squirming against his firm hold on her. "Happy New Year, everyone."

The discomfort melts away. Everyone laughs instead.

"Happy New Year, Danchou!"

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! Thank you all for giving me and this story a chance! Thank you for all the lovely support! I hope everyone has happy celebrations and a good start for the new year!

Chrollo and co. are also gonna have a blast tonight! Haha!


	14. Chapter XIV

_**Warning: This chapter contains strong themes such as drug use, sexual encounters, and human trafficking. If you are against these themes, do not proceed.**_

* * *

 **Chapter XIV**

* * *

Cold winds are blowing from northern mountains.

Inside a truck, six figures are similarly dressed in the cult's preferred fashion. Men wear black hooded robes with a silver brooch at the throat. The women, despite the raging winter season, wear strapless corset dresses with straps across the length of their thighs. They all wear black butterfly masks, akin to the masks used in a masquerade. Huddled together in the dimness of the truck, their breaths smoking in front of their faces, they remain silent and ignore each other's presence.

Valtiel tucks her frozen fingers underneath her bare thighs. She shivers, teeth chattering, though she tries her best not to seem affected by the cold. The people around her are unaffected, so why should she? Besides, the Phantom Troupe is on a mission tonight, and they are kind enough to let her participate. Tonight, there are no room for mistakes−unless she wants Feitan's claws around her neck.

The truck stops all of a sudden. One of the cultists opens the back of the truck and nods to everyone inside. Like them, he wears black all over, from the overcoat and boots. Instead of a butterfly mask, he has a plague doctor's pointed bird-like mask. He gestures for them to exit the truck, one-by-one, assisting the women while practically ignoring the men.

A small stone church stands inside a crevice of two mountains. Snow swirls in the wind, whipping their robes and skirts. The cultist leads the new group towards the church's entrance, where another masked cultist waits for them. Beneath the leather coat and the ominous mask, Valtiel could not tell whether they are male or female.

As she approaches the entrance, she feels a familiar touch on the small of her back. His fingers are careful not to touch the exposed skin there. Her breath hitches at the sudden touch, but her expression does not flicker as they step together towards the cultist.

"Do you have anything to declare?" the cultist demands, his voice rugged like a bear.

"Indeed." Her companion produces a familiar canvas from underneath his robes. It is a painting of a seven-headed dragon, its wide mouth open to swallow a blazing golden sun. He hands it over to the cultist with a smooth movement, like the experienced thief that he is.

"Go ahead, my brother and sister." The cultist raps his knuckles on the wooden door. It opens, another bird-masked man gesturing for them to enter. "Enjoy the show and the auction."

"Thank you," Chrollo answers, polite as always.

The flagstone pathway makes their footsteps resonate throughout the dim hallway. Torches mounted in iron sconces serve as the only means of light in the place, and warmth. Valtiel is utmost glad to be out of the snow and not shivering in these ridiculous clothes. She reaches out for Chrollo, in spite of him being too silent and ignoring her for most of the journey. Her fingers clutch at his dark sleeves, pulling themselves flush against each other, her white breath coming in short bursts.

Chrollo only laughs under his breath.

At the end of the hallway, another cultist blocks the way. He nods once at Chrollo's direction and undoes the locking mechanism on the door. The pair steps inside.

The auction would take place in an underground operating theater. The circular room boasts of an ancient brass chandelier, tiered cushioned seats, torches and candle stands. A wide arena is at the very bottom of the room, a platform raised and black curtains to match. A lone pendulum clock stands somewhere near Valtiel's right. A number of people have already arrived, chattering and sipping from wine glasses. All of them are dressed in the same fashion as the new group, though some had taken the liberty to wear fur-trimmed coats to ward off the chill.

Chrollo leads Valtiel to a pair of empty seats, at the right side of the room. It is close enough for them to watch the auction, and it is also close to the exit should troubles arise.

A woman server in the same corset dress and garter belts bends low at Chrollo's face to offer him champagne. Her green eyes glitter beneath her plague doctor's mask.

Smiling, Chrollo accepts the offered drink without a word. The woman frowns before she offers the same drink to the elderly man seated behind Chrollo and Valtiel.

"Can you see them?" Valtiel asks.

Her finger fiddles with the outer layer of her skimpy dress, made of thick lace and tulle. She looks around the theatre with disgusted curiosity, evading her eyes when a woman goes down on the stranger in front of her. The other cultists are just as bad, in her opinion, old perverted men smoking and chittering like pigs in a barn. When her eyes land to the far corner of the room, golden meeting blue, she sighs in relief and relaxes against the Spider leader.

"I saw Machi-san."

"Good. They should be close by." Chrollo spots Machi and Nobunaga on the left side of the room, also acting like couples. Then, far below them, near the platform, are Pakunoda and Yuan, pressed so close together one would assume they are also another couple present to enjoy the show.

"I am not excited about this."

"You are not?" There is a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He sets his champagne down. "How come? I had thought you would enjoy being here. It is a change of atmosphere from fancy hotels and restaurants, hm?"

"It is not," she counters, firm and stubborn.

The place is an epitome of corruption in every corner: young, beautiful women exchanging drug packets, young adult men groping a single woman, another young man half-naked as he slits his wrist with a blade.

Valtiel shudders at the scenes unfolding before her, thoughts unable to process such acts. Though she has never seen anything quite like this, does Chrollo really think she would enjoy herself watching these people? She peeps at his face, and he looks like he is actually enjoying the degradation spreading around them. He even manages a small smile. The bastard.

Her eyes wander towards her near left, where another woman is on her knees before a man, her head bobbing up and down between his legs. When the woman's head comes up, Valtiel sees a hint of flesh glistening with saliva under the chandelier's light.

"I need a tall glass of holy water after this."

The Troupe leader laughs behind his hand.

"What's so funny?"

"You are," he says with an earnest smile. His eyes follow where the woman is still occupied with the man. As if on cue, her magenta eyes slide to look at Chrollo. She licks her lips. He merely smiles back.

Then he wraps an arm around Valtiel's shoulders and pulls her closer to him, her head almost brushing his chest. She stiffens against him and looks up with a confused expression. "Keep your eyes on me instead, why don't you, sweetheart?"

Suddenly, the old man behind them jerks. His champagne spills over his knees, the glass shattering. Given the noise and the constant low humming from the guests, no one notices him but for the young pair.

He bends down, his head between Chrollo and Valtiel. Intimately, he whispers in their ears. "I have never seen so young and beautiful a pair come here," he observes, his breath stinking from the various drinks he has already tasted. He hiccups and belches, breath still ghosting over their ears. "What made you come?"

Chrollo has a polite smile prepared, as always. "We are admirers of what the Lord does here."

The man winks. "Ah, I know what you mean. He is the most gracious of all," he slurs, and then turns his gaze on Valtiel, whose attention is firmly glued towards the empty platform. "And you, my dear?"

"I have strange hobbies," comes her well-thought lie. She smiles at the man, and over his head, she could see Chrollo grinning at her. "My husband likes indulging me most of the time."

"Interesting." The man bobs his head in a sleepy nod and backs down to his seat.

"Perhaps next time I should just stay behind," Valtiel hisses in Chrollo's ear, none too pleased with the attention they are getting. She clutches his forearm while his hand pats her bare knee, as if to comfort her. She is about to bark a snide comment when the theater suddenly blacks out.

The crowd gasps in excitement. Then a single candle flame dances at the very center of the platform. A higher-ranking cultist, his overcoat black but his mask golden, stands there. He raises the hand that carries the candle. As if on cue, two long lines of cultists emerge behind the black curtains and carry torches high above their heads. They saunter towards the audience, the women flaunting their smooth and long legs over the male audience, while the men fumble at their robes and open them down to their navels, revealing hard muscles, enticing the young female audience.

One man spots Valtiel and ambles toward her with a sly smirk playing beneath his mask. With his right hand, he undoes the brooch at his throat and the robe falls open, sliding over a muscled shoulder in the process. He does not acknowledge Chrollo's presence as he kneels down before Valtiel, his free hand slowly reaching for her thigh, their eyes locked together in a sensual contact.

Chrollo's hand darts out beneath his sleeves and clutches the man's wrist. "No, thank you."

The man shrugs and lights the torch nearest to them. He leaves without so much another glance.

"Are you okay?" Chrollo asks, all gentle and tender and−

"No," Valtiel snaps, all narrowed eyes and a growl. "I am not. This place is sick."

"Troupe members do not complain of the mission given to them, or the role assigned to them," he says with a slight frown. His eyes are back on the platform, where the host creates fascinating displays with the flames. "You are the first one to complain to me, and you're not even one of my men."

"That's why I complain a lot," she points out, a little elated with the arguing. Nothing lifts her mood but a good debate, perhaps with some snide comments and trash talk. And also chocolate. The cultists are too primitive not to be serving chocolate to their guests. "How long until our target item shows up?"

"It is the last I believe," he says. "So you would have to sit through the show until the end."

"Oh, joy." She slumps back on her seat, arms folded across her chest, and shivers again.

"Are you cold?" he murmurs.

"I'm fine, Danchou."

The host starts the program with a prayer spoken in a different language. Some of the audience pray along, though some−the five Spiders included−are content in watching and listening to the words. Like a cat, Valtiel perks in her seat and blinks. She purses her lips and glances at Chrollo, but he is too engrossed in listening that he must have not noticed her staring. She sighs as the prayer finishes. The host tucks his candle to a nearby iron stick and with a sweep of his robes, starts the auction with the first items.

Two male cultists push a large silver cart towards the center of the platform. Above the cart is a naked young woman with leather straps crisscrossing her petite body. A black kerchief muffles her cries for help. The quick, panicked darting of her purple eyes makes the crowd chitter with laughter.

Valtiel stiffens in her seat. Beside her, Chrollo leans his elbows on his knees and inches forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the host says. "For our first item, we have this delicate desert flower from the plains of Fuen Desert. She was acquired through careful means, so as not to damage her porcelain skin or her delicate health. As you can see, she has the loveliest eyes amongst her people−"

At this statement, Chrollo laughs.

"You may choose to keep her inside the cage, for it is free−" The crowd snickers−"Or you may choose to keep her on a leash, walk it around your manors as your personal pet, play dress-up games with her, or you can sell the parts of her body that do not interest you. The starting bid is 100 million."

"150 million!"

"210 million!"

"300 million!"

Meanwhile, Valtiel could not take her eyes off the struggling woman. Another shudder runs down her spine as she watches the woman plead for mercy, her pale face stricken with fear. Then she has to wonder: what if she is in that situation? What if these monsters are selling her to another monster? She already feels exposed in her corset dress. What more if these monsters parade her on a cart, naked and weeping?

Below her, a young man wins the bid with 500 million. The male cultists lead the weeping woman backstage again, disappearing behind the black curtains.

The next item wheels onto the platform. Another woman, this time dressed in fiery robes. According to the host, she is a princess of a sun-worshipping tribe on a mountain. Unlike the first woman, she meets the audience's grins with a defiant sneer of her own, her black eyes catching the glint of the candles. The same male cultists strip the elegant robes off her, layer-by-layer, tantalizing and slow. Still, the princess stands on her dignity, never flinching even as the last garment slips from her bronze skin. The bid starts at 900 million, sending the crowd into a flurry of higher bids.

Valtiel feels her stomach drop after each item. She despises the pageantry, but her curiosity overwhelms her. She suffers through five or six more items, all of them people, either dead or alive. The live ones sell the most, while the dead are chopped into portions and offered separately to the eager guests.

When the host brings out young twin boys, she wants to get out of there.

"Excuse me." She stands abruptly, but Chrollo's hand in hers stops her. "I am going to the bathroom."

"But of course, darling." He smiles, feeling the weight of the old man's stare bore through them. "Be quick."

"For you, I will be." Her lace skirts billow outwards as she finds the nearest way to the backstage restroom.

The backstage is dark and damp, with the chilly winds entering through a lone round window. Only few are stationed here, she notices, either guarding the platform and curtains or keeping watch. One of the tall cultists break off from the group and trudges toward her. Like the princess, Valtiel stands straight and defiant, her glare meeting the man's black eyes. He roughly grabs her and whisks her to a dark corner. He pulls his bird-like mask over his face.

She sighs in relief. "Oh, Phink-san."

He nods, looking down on her nervous face. "Yeah, who'd you think I was?"

"Fei-san." Lord save her should Feitan catch her sneaking around during the mission.

"Feitan? _This_ tall?" He snickers.

Her cheeks flush at the realization. "I... didn't mean it like that..."

Phinks grins broadly and pats her head. "Nah, you're good, doll face. Fei's busy keeping tabs on the items. Our target should show up sooner or later." He blinks, lips pursed to the side, as if there is something he does not understand. "So, what're you doing down here, kid?"

"I wanted to go to the bathroom."

"Oh, I see." He smirks, haughty. "The old bathroom excuse, huh?"

Her cheeks flush in shame. "Of course not! I really do have to use the bathroom. Show me where it is."

He taps his chin thoughtfully. "Fine, fine, fine. You're on the wrong side of the backstage though. The bathroom is on the other side, just by the end of the hallway. You should be able to notice it."

She pats his arm as thanks and moves along. She makes eye contact with two more masked figures, and when one of them winks behind his mark, she knows for sure she spotted Shalnark and Feitan. She smiles back and follows Phinks's instructions, passing by another group of cultists getting ready to bring the newest item. In her peripheral vision, she sees it is another pair of twins, young boys yowling like puppies. She shakes her head and then bumps onto someone.

The young man is equally flustered, holding her forearm to guide her balance. He speaks in a rapid undertone, in the language only half of the audience could understand.

She realizes that she knows the language, and answers the man's constant apologies. "Jeg brehar." _I am fine._ And then another realization hits her: he is the same cultist who had danced before her earlier.

He looks equal parts surprised and amused. Again, he chatters in his language.

"Jeg ter bedetter," she answers his question. _I am looking for the bathroom._

"Elo ten, elo ten." _This way, this way_. He leads her behind the platform and shows her the dark alley that leads to the bathroom. Contrasting his seductive demeanor before, he is warm. He still wears his costume, but his mask his gone, revealing quite a handsome, friendly face. "Nidh her." _In here._

"Nae stakk." _Thank you_. She enters the bathroom and pulls the butterfly mask off her face. The black strings come undone, along with the ribbon that holds her hair together. Platinum blonde hair falls in loose ringlets over her shoulders and across the length of her back.

Ignoring her face, she starts pawing at her eyes until she could see white spots. She paws at them as if she could erase the images of the women and the twins being auctioned like animals for butcher. She washes her face with the freezing water, returns her mask, and goes outside to see the young man still waiting for her.

Still in his language, he introduces himself as Jørn. He calls one of the female servers and offers Valtiel a cup of coffee, since he notices her shivering under her dress.

Grateful for his kindness, Valtiel takes a sip and warms her fingers on the mug. She starts asking him about himself, making friends in such a place, and receives honest answers from Jørn. Then, curiosity taking over, she asks about the auction itself−who funds the event, why are they doing this, why in such a crude and dehumanizing manner.

Jørn shrugs his shoulders and explains that it is has been going on for decades. He has no idea who pulls the strings behind, and that he wouldn't have participated if not for the high salary he receives for simply removing his robes for the guests.

A cart passes before them, carrying a dead man's chopped limbs, painted in gold-and-silver, and on its way to the platform.

He senses Valtiel's repulsion and lets her in a little secret. His mouth on her ear, he whispers words he should not be telling her, for it would cost him his job. More importantly, it would cost him their lives. But he whispers on, one eye on his colleagues, who are too occupied flitting about. He pulls back when he finishes, nodding at her horrified expression.

She excuses herself and purposely bumps onto Phinks's large build.

"Woah! Careful, Val." Phinks steadies her with his hands on her shoulder. He peers down on her face and blinks at the glazed look in her golden eyes. "What's the matter?"

"It's a trap!" she whispers in a panic, clutching at his chest too tight. "Jørn says everything is a trap. We must go or−I don't know−but it is a trap!"

Phinks goes straight to the most important detail. "Who the _hell_ is Jørn?"

Shalnark and Feitan appear beside Phinks. "Any problems?" the former asks.

"It's a trap!" Valtiel grabs Shalnark's hand and leads him on the platform's corner. The layers of black curtains hide them from the audience. She turns his head upwards and points to a projector mounted on the ceiling. "That is the trap. Jørn says the projector does all the work around here; it shows the items, but they are not really here. He says…" She pauses, uncertain. "He says it's called Nen."

"What the shit," Feitan grumbles under his bandana.

"Are you certain?" Shalnark asks. He hums and keeps staring at the projector. "What else did he say?"

"That everyone here is in danger," she answers, feeling fear creep into her system. She presses herself closer to Shalnark. At least he would not mind the closeness, unlike the grumpy Feitan or the easily flustered Phinks. "The projector makes images of the items that are not here. It's a trap."

"Well, your information is dubious at best," Shalnark rules, "but it is not too over the moon. You're right that a Nen user probably can conjure images and make the viewers believe them. Our mission is compromised then. Too bad." He sighs and scratches the back of his head.

"Should us move to Plan B?" Feitan asks.

"Plan B, indeed," Shalnark beams.

"You go back to Danchou," Phinks says to Valtiel. "Things will get bloody after this. You don't want to be in the backstage when that happens. Believe me." He grins. "And tell Danchou we're compromised. That should give the two other pairs a heads-up."

"Okay. Will you be all right?"

Feitan rolls his eyes. "We the Spiders. _They_ should be the ones worried."

She sighs. "Fine. Just do not kill Jørn. Please. I owe it to him."

Phinks waves his hand in goodbye. When she is out of earshot, he bends down to Feitan's height and whispers, "Who the hell is Jørn?"

Back in the theater, Valtiel spots Machi and Nobunaga and wonders to herself if she should warn them as she did to the others. But then she feels someone's intense gaze on her and decides to head back to her seat. This is the mission of the Phantom Troupe. They can handle whatever problems might arise. As long as she would stick close to any of them, she should be fine.

The old man keeps staring at her with his black piggy eyes.

As she sinks into her cushioned seat, she hears Chrollo's soft voice.

"Kiss me on the cheek," he says in a barely audible voice.

She just blinks at him, uncomprehending.

His gaze on the show never flickers. "Just do it."

Quietly, she leans over his seat and plants a soft kiss on his left cheek. As she intends to pull away, Chrollo turns towards her, brushing their noses together, flashing her a tender smile. She stares in his dark eyes, drowning in them. Again, she leans close and kisses his cheek, sliding her lips across smooth skin until she could whisper in his ear.

"We're compromised," she says tersely. "Shal-san has decided we should move to Plan B."

"I see." He nods and pulls back. His thumb plays across her bottom lip. "You are too sweet to me tonight, my love."

"Am I not always sweet?" The words are too sweet for her own good. She wants to vomit them, but holds still. The old man is watching them; he is listening to every word said, he is noting every touch. She could tell Chrollo is enjoying putting a fake show, but whether for her discomfort or the old man's annoyance, she could not tell. Perhaps a mixture of both.

Down below, the host introduces a young man with milk-white skin and stark black hair.

Chrollo's eyes search for Machi in the crowd. He finds her, and it only takes a brief second for them to understand the next course of action. He searches for Pakunoda or Yuan next. It is Yuan's electric-blue eyes he finds. He nods to him as well and watches as Yuan whispers something in Pakunoda's ear. The blonde woman reaches for the gun stashed underneath her skirts.

Around them, the crowd keeps bidding for the item.

Suddenly, a man on the right side unsheathes his katana and slashes a circle around him. The crowd barely has the time to understand what is happening when the woman next to the man jumps up and curls her hand into a fist. People jerk upwards to the ceiling, suspended by invisible threads. Nobunaga rips the ridiculous bird costume off him and starts waving his sword, cutting down people as easy as cutting grass. Machi's other fist tightens, sending another group of people soaring to the ceiling.

The people are shouting and panicking in earnest now. They push and bump onto each other, regardless of their previous activities. They try to exit through the door at the top, but it opens and Uvogin enters. Seeing the strange face, the crowd hesitates to climb any further−when they hear gunshots from the arena. Again, they scream in terror as Pakunoda guns down most of the guests seated at the front. Like ants, they scatter across the entire arena, all desperate to get out.

Yuan takes the platform and holds the candlestick with one hand. Slowly, his bronze skin turns black and hardens. It consumes his entire body, even his face, though his eyes remain the same electric-blue and his hair silver. In this new form, he batters the guests with ease, breaking their bones and smashing them against the wooden platform, destroying it in the process.

Shalnark and his team emerge from behind the curtains and take part in the massacre. As usual, Phinks and Feitan are on a competitive mood and are betting as to which one gets the most kills. Uvogin jumps from the top stairs to the arena and joins the game, tearing people down like paper dolls.

Not one to be left behind, Chrollo stands from his chair, though he does not participate in the killings. He removes his black coat and smooths down the tuxedo ensemble he wears underneath. With a reassuring smile at Valtiel, he goes past the curtains and rummages for anything he could find interesting.

The carnage continues to enfold before her very eyes. Valtiel sits back, hands on her lap. She tries not to think of much as she watches the Phantom Troupe do its wonders−what the world knows them to be. She could not stomach the wet squelch of blood or the horrified screams as Feitan breaks necks one after the other. Even Machi, as tall and petite as Valtiel, murders the guests without a hint of repulsion in her face.

Someone falls back behind her seat. She turns around to see the old man scrambling towards her, limping on his wounded legs, his pudgy fingers seeking purchase on her high heels and skirts. His unaccounted strength and heaviness makes Valtiel fall to the ground, the man on top of her, with his breath fanning over her face. How many times does she have to endure men and their perverse ideas? How many times does she have to suffer them all, weak and helpless that she already is?

She backs away from him while he advances on his hands and knees. The very image makes her shudder as she keeps backing away. In this carnage, in this wildness, no one would hear her scream. Perhaps no one would even help her; she might have known them from Meteor City, but she is no Spider. The Phantom Troupe would not even notice if she dies amongst the crowd tonight. The thought alone saddens her, distracts her even, that the old man finally reaches at her skirts and rips the fabric into ribbons.

Valtiel slams her back against the massive clock. The glass cage shatters into thousands of shards. The brass hour and minute hands detach from the mechanism.

The old man keeps crawling towards her like a man possessed. Her previous encounter with the Prince of Kakin sends tidals waves of fear and horror in her system that she desperately snatches for the hour hand and embeds it deeply into the flabby flesh of the man's neck.

She could feel every pump of adrenaline in her veins as the man's body lightens, his head lolling awkwardly and bloody. Trembling, she backs away to the nearest wall and hugs her knees.

 _What have I done? What have I done?_

 _I killed him. Look. I killed him, Danchou._

 _Where are you? Please. I killed someone._

The crowd suspended in Machi's threads keep squirming. At last, the Spider decides enough and opens her fist. The threads slash through the bodies and cut their limbs in uneven portions. A rain of warm blood showers upon them all, and Uvogin actually basks in the rain.

Thus ends the one-sided massacre.

Nobunaga finds Valtiel curled up on the wall, staring at a man's lifeless body. "You okay, brat?"

Her bangs fall across her eyes as the samurai crouches beside her. "Nobu-san…?"

"Yeah. What happened here?" He follows when her sight lands on the dead man. From the way the brass hourhand sticks from the throat, he does not need an answer from her. Instead, he pats her hair like a puppy. "Good job there, kid! I _knew_ you had it in you. Oi, Uvo! Look at this!"

"Stop bullying her," Uvogin chides, arms over his chest. Blood stains the bearskin draped over his shoulder. Even his spiky grey hair has a hint of red at the tips. "She already looks like shit. Stop rubbing it in her face, you mean bastard."

"Who said anything about bullying her?!" Nobunaga fumes. "I meant look at that guy over there! Pretty dead, huh? Guess who killed him?" he singsongs, poking Valtiel on the arm. "This one right here!"

"Oh!" Uvogin's hazel eyes sparkle as he crouches down too. "That's awesome, kiddo!"

"Val killed someone?" Shalnark approaches them. Machi and Pakunoda trail behind. He claps his hands, excited as the two other Spiders are. "Cool! This calls for a celebration!"

"I call dibs on teaching her how to kill!" Uvo cackles.

"And I'll teach her more creative ways to gut someone," Nobunaga adds.

"We not even finished yet," Feitan scolds, standing beside Yuan. "We not have our target item."

"We kind of spared the host," Phinks adds, sheepish. "Should we interrogate him or what?"

Shalnark grunts and joins his team members with the battered host on the platform. Nobunaga follows next, Machi and Pakunoda shrugging and following. Uvogin helps Valtiel to her unsteady feet, seeing that she is stumbling from either exhaustion or fright, he carries her on his arm and joins the others.

The eight Spiders surround the host, while Valtiel sits on the nearest bench.

Phinks kicks the host to his back and presses a foot on his neck. "Where are the items, punk?"

"Let me," Pakunoda intercedes. She kneels beside the host and touches his wrist. "The items are hidden somewhere else, are they not? Where? And your master−who is he?" She smiles to herself. "Oh, I see it now. Very well, then. Phinks, do the honors."

"Gee, _thanks_."

Valtiel closes her eyes, but she still hears the deafening crack of skull. When she opens them again, she sees Chrollo emerging from the backstage, one hand in his pocket.

Unlike them, who had been showered by Machi's ceiling corpses, the Spider leader remains clean and composed, no hair out of place, a smile always present. Only when he notices the blood on Valtiel's thighs and the tears in her eyes does he seem concerned. He kneels on the floor in front of her.

"What happened to you?"

"I killed someone," she sobs, more tears flowing down her bloodstained cheeks. She paws at her eyes, desperately wiping away the tears. "I am sorry−I didn't mean−It was an _accident_. I am so sorry."

Chrollo glances at everyone, who inch forward to them. Everyone looks concerned as well. He proceeds to remove his black coat and puts it over her bare shoulders. "Don't be sorry. You did well. I am proud of you."

She looks at him through her tears, aghast.

Pakunoda clears her throat. "I know where the items are," she announces. "There's a manor at the other side of the mountain. According to his memories, his boss has the ability to emit images through a conjured projector. The boss has to see the images live and transmit them to the projector. Everything we saw on stage is the transmitted images. The rest are props."

"We should get going then." Nobunaga scratches his beard.

"Yeah. Let's go. This weather is freezing my butt," Uvogin complains with a large yawn.

"You have no butt," Feitan mumbles.

"What?! Say that again to my face, shrimp!"

"I said nothing."

"I heard something!"

While the two Spiders are bickering, Machi slows down and turns back to their leader.

"Danchou," she calls out to earn his attention. She does, but only briefly. His attention is focused on his bloodstained Kurta. Dressed in black skimpy clothes, she looks like a doll to Machi. She has to wonder if Danchou is worried that his little plaything is broken over a traumatizing massacre. "Are you coming along?"

"I think not," he answers at length. He takes Valtiel's hand and guides her to stand up. "Perhaps we would sit this one out. I am sure Shalnark and the others would understand."

 _We_. Machi does not like the sound of that.

"Is she hurt?" Her blue eyes study the other's figure. In her trained eyes, nothing seems to be out of place.

"She's shaken, that's all. I will take her back to base with Franklin and the others."

"Ah, that is probably the best." Machi walks beside them and notes how the Danchou is gentle towards the Kurta. She could not remember the last time he is like this. Is he always this gentle? No−Danchou is playing the part of an affectionate man. Behind his charming smiles lies a very dangerous predator.

Once outside, the Spiders split into two groups: one going to the mountains and one going to base.

* * *

For this mission, the Phantom Troupe is staying in a large hunter's lodge in the far side of the snow-capped village. The winter season in this country falls heavy, all snows for hours on end. One cannot recognize the pathway, and the thickness of the snow does not allow vehicles through. The villagers are buried deep up to their torso. The farm animals are tucked away in the barns.

With half of the Spiders gone to retrieve the target item, the lodge is fairly peaceful and quiet. Franklin sits on the corner of the living room, one big arm over the window's ledge. He keeps watching the drifting snows, traces a large finger on the frost dancing across the glass. Bonolenov has found a flute somewhere in the dead hunter's stash, and is playing quite a melodious tune. Kortopi sits cross-legged by the fire as he cranes his neck and gazes upon the animal heads mounted on the walls. Omokage, smirking to himself, sits nearby another window and sews a new ragdoll together.

Chrollo idles in the living room for a few minutes. Sipping from his cup of coffee, he joins Kortopi in admiring the taxidermy present−heads of deer and buffalo, a preserved body of a red fox, a raccoon's claws, and a blue-eyed wolf's torso. There are small birds lined up on the shelf above the fireplace.

After waiting a while, Chrollo goes to the second floor and heads straight to his bedroom shared with Valtiel. He lets himself in without preamble. The room is spacious and warm, equipped with a smaller fireplace and a bearskin carpet. A preserved body of a peregrine falcon is mounted on the wall above their bed.

He blinks when he does not find her on the bed or by the window. Hearing the constant splashing from the small bathroom, he puts his coffee down and decides to check on her.

The bathroom door is wide open. There is a naked Valtiel curled up on the floor, the water pattering down on her. Like a woman possessed, she keeps rubbing and clawing at every inch of her skin. She scratches deep, forming long red scratches over alabaster skin. Her platinum blonde hair is a damp mess over her naked shoulders and back. She does not stop even as Chrollo rushes to her side, kneeling on the damp floor, having the cold water soak him from head to toe.

"Val−" He tries to pry her nails off her skin, but she scratches on, more distressed now. He tries again, putting more force in his touch and more authority in his voice. "Valtiel, that is enough."

"No, Danchou. I must," she insists, sniffling. She snatches her wrist from his grip and scratches there, adding more red lines. Her tears mingle with the water. "Can't you see? I am covered with blood. I see so much blood. I can't see anything else… I have to be clean… I have… I _must_ , Danchou…"

"You're not covered in blood," he says in a matter-of-fact tone. "Valtiel−"

"I _killed_ him," she hisses. She reaches out for her thighs and rakes long nails over the inner skin there. She sobs as she pats water to her skin, washing away the invisible blood. "I killed the man behind us, the old pervert… It was an accident. I didn't mean to…"

"Of course you did not," he agrees in a quiet voice. His dark eyes carefully look away from her exposed body. He fetches a towel and wraps it around her. "You never meant to kill anyone I know that. Remember what we talked about before? About compromising? You did that. You took care of yourself and the problem. And for that I am proud, so proud of you." He kisses her forehead, then her closed eyes.

"But I killed him," she mumbles, too weak to fight as he carries her out of the shower.

"You did. I am proud you're not relying on me that much," he says, implicating an old joke between them. "Come. Let's go to bed."

He lies her on the mattress, still wrapped in a towel like a baby in her swaddling clothes. He sits at arm's length away from her, resting her legs over his lap. "You were having a cold shower in the height of the winter season. Are you asking to have a cold or something?"

She shakes her head, tired. Her skin is hurting and stinging. "I just wanted to wash the blood away."

He chuckles and pats her legs. "And you did. You're already clean."

"Am I?"

"Absolutely."

"Good." Her head rests against the headboard. "I am tired."

Chrollo leaves her for another ten minutes, giving her the privacy to change clothes and perhaps think of what has happened in the shower. He leans against the wall outside their room, thoughts ever drawn to the sight of Valtiel naked on the bathroom floor. He wonders why she is not at least disturbed that he saw her like that. Is it due to her trauma? That her concerns are elsewhere rather than worrying about decency? He shrugs to himself and enters the room again.

Valtiel is already on her side of the bed, and now dressed in the silk pajamas he had stolen for her en route to this village. She sniffles quietly as the Spider head joins her under the covers.

They do not speak for a while. Instead, they listen to the powerful howling of the wind outside. It rattles the window from its panels, and it threatens to give way. They listen to the fire cackling in the hearth. They listen to each other breathing.

"How did you know the language?" he asks after another minute of silence.

"One of your books."

His eyebrows knit together. "Which one?"

She rises and reaches over his body, fetching one of the many hardbound books still untouched on the bedside table. She rests her cheek on his left shoulder as she hands him the book. "It's a children's fairy tale story of a dragon-king and a knight," she whispers. "It's very good."

He flips through the first pages. It is a picture book depicting a green-and-black dragon spitting flames of black-and-gold. "And you knew by simply reading this?"

"No. Only that your book reminded me that I know the words."

"But how did you know in the first place?"

"I don't know." She shrugs, and then a look of worry crosses her tired face. "…Is that not normal?"

"It means you are talented," he assures her and returns the book to its rightful place with the others. He turns the lamp off and tucks the blanket under their chins, his other arm draped over Valtiel's waist. "And how did you know it was a trap?"

"Oh, Jørn told me."

In the room's darkness, his eyes blink. "Who?"

She shifts in his arms, so that her nose is almost against his neck, inhaling his scent. "The man who danced before me," she mumbles, already very sleepy. "I am sure you remember him."

"Oh. Of course I do."

"I hope he got away from the massacre. He was very kind to me."

Chrollo falls silent. Then he feels her body lighten against his, her breathing becoming faint. He stares at the frost-covered window and watches the snow falling harder. In the back of his mind, he could not bring it to his heart to tell her that he was the one who killed Jørn.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Three cheers for the Spiders for being the best supporters when it comes to murder! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!

Extra posessive Chrollo is 👌.

So! I gave a little warning about this chapter's events at the start. I wanted to show the darker, more vulgar side of the Phantom Troupe since we all know that they are not above murdering parents and children and gouging their eyes out. Drugs, human trafficking, and maybe even some prostitution are some things that I can see the Troupe partaking in. I wanna say "Poor, Val" but our girl had it coming when she tagged along with them.

Since I missed replying to everyone's kind reviews the last time, get ready for a long reply!

* **xenocanaan** \- Thank you! That monk's words will surely come back to bite Danchou in the ass. Spoiler! Haha, just kidding!

* **Dontcha** \- Why, thank you! This is such a sweet review! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! If you have suggestions, please let me know!

* **Luminaaa** \- Glad you liked the rewriting memory ability! Thank you so much for thr review!

* **Happy New Year** \- Thank you!

* **Amy** \- Paku, you sneaky little minx! And you're not a big fan of Omokage, eh? Yeah, I understand. Me neither. This guy is good at making people feel uncomfortable. And Danchou being more attached...? *wink wonk*

* **AwkwardBlackCat** \- Thank you! I always love reading long reviews! Now that you've mentioned that Kurapika's alive (and he certainly is!), I can somehow imagine how he will rage when he finds out that Val's been hanging out with the Spiders all this time. Haha! I'm not sure whether to feel sorry for Chrollo or what.

* **belladu57** \- Thank you for the review!

* **Minato** \- Ooh! Hisoka?! Our resident magician won't be around for a few good chapters... but in my opinion, since Val is good at handling people, who knows? She might be able to handle Hisoka while Hisoka will _probably_ flirt with Val just to make Chrollo's blood boil. Oh well! And thanks for reviewing!

* **mpepper1023** \- Wow, thank you! It's nice that you love the story! I just hope you won't get in trouble for reading this while working. Haha!


	15. Chapter XV

**Chapter XV**

* * *

"Danchou's been acting strange lately, don't you think?" Uvo muses.

"Like you're one to talk," Nobunaga spits from his side of the truck.

The eight members of the Phantom Troupe have stolen one of the vehicles and are now on their way to the manor located at the other side of the mountain. Yuan has taken the wheel, while Pakunoda sits on the passenger seat and cleans the blood off her pistols with a kerchief. The rest of the Spiders are huddled together in the back−seated as far as humanly possible−but still somehow scoot closer to each other every time the cold air gushes.

Machi's clear blue eyes are on the long line of grey trees they are passing by. "I think he's mostly concerned of how she'd turn out," she murmurs, white smoke fanning over her face. "Not because he cares for her as a person. She's just another plaything, after all."

"All those efforts of lying and rewriting memories for a toy?" Uvogin snorts.

"Well, it's been a while since Danchou played with someone," Feitan points out.

"The last time was with a detective, I think?" Phinks yawns and closes his eyes. He leans the weight of his upper body against Shalnark's much lither form. "Made him think twice about his morals. Killed him when the detective kept whinging about it."

"Whinging?" Shalnark echoes.

"Means whining, smartass." Phinks opens one eye and finds Shalnark grinning at him, obviously teasing about his choice of words. He grunts and nudges Shal with an elbow. "My point is: let Danchou have his way with the Kurta girl. He does seem so invested on this one. Not too meek and not too pushy."

"And she's not a whinger?" Shalnark asks, and then turns to Machi. "Is whinger even a real word?"

"I don't know." She shrugs. "Ask Nobunaga."

"Aw, man. I don't want to ask Nobunaga about things like that."

"Why not?!" The samurai barks, ready to pounce at the younger Spider.

Feitan curses under his breath and stands up, balancing himself despite the rugged terrain and the constant shaking of the truck. He drops himself on the seat by the entrance in front of Machi and beside Uvogin.

"I surprised she manage to survive this long," he adds to the conversation. "She should been dead three days after we left church."

Machi glances at his direction and notices him leering under his bandana. "As long as Danchou finds her entertaining, he wouldn't let her in harm's way," she says. She fights the urge to share what she noticed back in the theater, when Danchou was being gentle and caring towards the Kurta. The sight was unpleasant−and indefinitely odd.

"How long do you think would that be?" Uvogin asks.

"Don't know," Machi answers. "Could be a while."

"Is it a hunch?" Uvogin says.

"Yes, just a hunch."

Nobunaga stops nudging Shalnark with the blunt end of his sword's sheathe. "She might be around for a longer while," he says, scratching the stubble on his chin. "Danchou did ask us to lie for him about the memories. It would be a pain, for sure, but nothing we can't handle."

Pakunoda's voice comes from the front. "Get ready. We are here."

The Spiders fall silent as the truck follows a pathway that leads to the manor. From afar, the mansion looks like an abandoned palace with frosted stonewalls and battlements along the walls. The black iron gate, rusted throughout years of neglect, is wide open for the truck to enter. Yuan parks the truck before the short flight of steps. Then, one by one, the Spiders dismount; everyone is in their usual clothes.

Phinks brushes the snow off his shoulders. "So, where to?"

"Somebody should use En," Shalnark suggests.

"Guess that's me, then." Nobunaga takes one step forward and focuses on his ability. Exhaling a breath, his aura bursts forth from him and surrounds the expanse of the manor's abandoned territory. He sneezes then, disturbed by the raging snowfall. "I detected quite a large group on the second floor. And then there's a solitary one next to them."

"Good work! Let's go team!" Shalnark leads the way up the stairs.

Inside, the mansion is covered with thick dust and layers of cobwebs. The tiles are broken with web-like cracks across the surface. Some furniture is covered with white fabrics. A cold hearth has been untouched for what seems like years. The Spiders observe the surroundings with a thief's instinct: which could be stolen, which ones would make most money, where the other treasures are.

On the second floor, the Spiders proceed towards the large double doors at the farthest. They pause and look at each other. Uvogin and Nobunaga, taking their positions as the Troupe's front-line fighters, take one door each and fling it open.

Muffled voices gasp beneath their gags. Uvogin and Nobunaga stop from their assault and stare at the gruesome scene: a center stage at the dining room's middle, lavished with fine black curtains and silver ropes. There is an extravagant dinner laid out on the long mahogany table. Chandeliers flash brightly despite the mansion's dreary exterior. And−the two Spiders realize too late−that there are people tied and gagged on the stage, the scent of fear and relief strong in them.

The others join them, more surprised than repulsed to see a bandaged man dining on the table with naked women, men, and children gagged in front of him. Even Phinks almost retches.

"What the shit is this?" Feitan hisses, his eyes narrowed into dark slits.

"Who are you?!" demands the bandaged man. His hands fumble at something. Only then do the Spiders also realize that the man is indisposed in his wheelchair.

The wheelchair turns, as does the man, and shows his entire appearance for the Spiders to find disgusting: white bandages cover his entire face, with the exception of his beady right eye and pursed mouth. What little skin revealed behind the bandages is black and burned. He wears an elegant suit of purple, his necktie maroon, and his fingers studded with gems. His body ends with the blunt stump where his knees should be.

The man growls and, in his utter panic, presses a button under the table.

A door to the right opens. Cultists dressed in their black coats and pointed bird masks arrive, each one of them carrying a different kind of weapon. Swords, guns, spears, and even whips.

With a happy smile, Uvogin and Nobunaga break from the group to take care of the cultists. Pakunoda nods to Machi, who nods back and pounces towards the bandaged man. He screams and pulls out a handgun from underneath his wheelchair, but Feitan is immediately in his face, breaking the fingers that are holding the gun. The man screams in earnest, howling in pain. Machi lands behind the wheelchair and ties him with her invisible threads.

"Move, or you will get cut," she warns him.

"Too easy," Feitan scoffs and discards the handgun to the stage. The naked captives squirm away from the weapon, and squirm away from Feitan in general. He only sneers at them.

"We're finished here, too." Uvogin kicks the last cultist's broken body away from him.

Pakunoda cracks her fingers, and then kneels before the man. In this close proximity, she could smell his antibiotics and see the gruesome burn beside his right eye. Her hand closes in, holding him firmly around the wrist. The man flinches as if her touch burns him. "Where are the treasures?"

The man shakes his head, screaming. The threads make quick work on his skin, drawing bloody lines crisscrossing his body. "Wh-Who are you people? What do you want?"

"We want the treasures," Phinks says from the table, taking his pick of the food. "Oi, Fei! Try this one! I'm _definitely_ stealing some for Val."

Rolling his eyes, Feitan joins his friend and starts rummaging through the dinner.

Shalnark crouches beside Paku. He smiles at the man. "We are looking for the treasure called the Armonia. Now, the catalog and invitation from your cult says the Armonia should be auctioned tonight. It turns out that you have been deceiving us with your Nen ability−which is _awesome_ , by the way," he chirps ever so cheerfully. "So now we want the real Armonia. No tricks, no lies."

"Else we break every bone in your body," Phinks says through a mouthful of steak.

"We start skinning a finger, obviously," Feitan adds. "Peel off a nail, pull out veins there…"

"You get the idea," Shalnark tells the bandaged man.

Again, the man struggles. "The Armonia is not here!" he shouts in Shal's face. Machi hisses and pulls her threads tighter, cutting deeper into the man's burned flesh. He screams. "Please! I know nothing of the Armonia! The catalog and invitation are all lies! I only wanted to get to the audience!"

Nobunaga stops short from feasting on the roasted turkey. "The audience? What for?"

Yuan, who has been standing by the stage, hums in agreement. "I understand now," he murmurs, but it still catches everyone's attention. He points at each of the people on stage: the purple-eyed beauty from Fuen Desert, the princess from a sun tribe, a young man with milk-white skin. A pair of young twin boys, pale and exhausted from crying, are holding hands at the very corner of the stage. "They used to be audiences from your previous auctions, but you kidnapped them and auctioned them."

The man pants as he nods. "That's right," he says. "The Armonia is not here."

But Pakunoda's lips curl into the smallest of smiles. She lets go of his arm and stands. "I know where the Armonia is," she drawls, finding the man's nervousness quite pleasing to the eyes. "It is in his room, on the fourth floor. It is his most treasured possession."

"Awesome." Uvogin finishes the rest of his food and licks at his fingers. "Let's go. I'm stuffed."

"What about him?" Shal points at the burned man.

The other Spiders are on their way to the double doors again.

"Just kill him, Machi," Phinks says over his shoulder.

"Okay." And with a flick of her index finger on a thread, the man screams for the final time before the threads finally cut him into several uneven portions. Machi leaves the body limping on the wheelchair as she and Shalnark walk behind the others.

"Did you get to try the food?" Shalnark whispers in her ear.

"Actually, no," Machi says.

In the master bedroom, standing under the moonlight, the Armonia looks like heaven-sent.

Believed to be a skeleton of a young woman long deceased, various gems are studded on every inch of the skeleton, leaving no place that is not shining. Rubies, diamonds, and sapphires on the skull. Lapiz lazuli for the eyes. Amethyst on the ears and nose. Rose quartz across the mouth. The entire body shines with different gems that it is hard for the Spiders not to admire the masterpiece. This is their target item: the cult's pride and joy, and the bandaged man's wife.

"She died from the fire," Pakunoda explains as her fingers trace the outline of emeralds across the shoulder blades. "They were the richest couple in their country, but their enemies burned their house. The husband, Lord Ruber, survived but was severely burned and his legs had to be removed. The authorities found the wife all bones and no flesh left. Her jewelries also survived the fire."

"So Lord Ruber had his wife and her jewelries mashed together," Shalnark muses. He himself admires the varying topaz-turquoise-diamond pattern on the ribs.

"Quite creative," Feitan comments.

"Our mission should be complete then," Nobunaga says.

"Yeah. Let's head back to base. I don't like being out in this kind of weather," Phinks complains as he cradles his food 'take-aways'.

"What about the people on the stage?" Yuan asks no one in particular. "Shouldn't we release them?"

"Nah." Uvogin picks up the skeleton and its iron support. "The bastard is dead, ain't he? Those people can find a way to free themselves. I am not going back there to free them."

Machi nods. "Me neither."

Nobunaga raises a hand. "I second that." He looks at Machi. "Or wait, should I say third?"

Phinks and Feitan also shake their heads at Yuan.

"If you want, you can free them," Pakunoda says gently. Her brown eyes are always warm. "We will wait for you in the truck. You are our driver, after all." Then she smiles. "We'd have to wait."

"I should be out in five minutes," Yuan promises and dashes out of the master's bedroom.

Uvogin scratches at his belly. "Why'd you have to let him bother?"

Pakunoda just shakes her head and starts walking.

* * *

The next morning, Valtiel wakes up with a stinging pain on her skin and a burning forehead.

Her eyelids slowly flutter open. A blurry image of someone's hand pressed over her forehead is all she could make out. As if in a haze, she sighs and closes her eyes again. A soft voice speaks, but not to her. Then another voice, softer and calmer, answers the first voice.

 _Who?_ She could not think of anyone else who could be there with her. Her entire body is racked with pain and her skin tingles with a stinging sensation. _What happened? Who are these people?_

With an effort, she opens her eyes again. The blurry images slowly, carefully turn into focus. A dark-haired man is hovering over her. Behind him, a boy with blond hair. Both look concerned about her well-being.

A tear creeps from her eyes, slips across one flushed cheek. "Dad…? K-Kurapika…"

"What did you say?" the first voice demans, offended.

"Kurapika…" Valtiel repeats, her voice firm and stubborn. Tears continue flowing. She shakes her head, trying to get the pain away. Instead, the ache worsens, pounding through her skull. She thrashes feebly on the bed, and the effort of doing so makes her even more exhausted. Her arms go limp under the blanket.

After her little outburst, she falls asleep again.

Chrollo is careful not to show the offense and the anger in his face. His dark eyes are narrowed, venomously so, at the young woman's serene sleeping face. He leans closer, so that Shalnark would not sense the apprehension that could leech into his aura in any moment.

Reminding himself to act the role of the gentle character, Chrollo combs his fingers through Valtiel's bangs and lets his thumb brush the apex of her right cheek. It trails downwards to her lips, slightly parted for breathing, and then ever downward close to her neck. He gets the strong urge to wrap his fingers around that neck, make her take back the names she should not be remembering. She belongs to him−and no one else's.

Shalnark clears his throat to lessen the awkwardness. "As I was saying, I think it must be a cold. You said she was soaked with cold water last night, right? And last night was pretty cold. Oh! And Phinks got her food from the last raid."

"Never mind that," Chrollo says with a frown. "Val comes first."

"I could get something from the pharmacy if you want, Danchou."

"Yes, please." Chrollo turns to his Spider. Shalnark's usual cheerfulness is gone today. "Does this village even have a pharmacy?"

"I am not really sure, but it is a small place. We can find it in no time."

"Take Franklin and Machi with you. And bring the truck. It should be faster."

"Don't worry." Shalnark reaches for the door and looks over his shoulder. He remembers the conversation last night among the Spiders, about their Danchou and his precious plaything. He could see how much the Kurta affects the Danchou, even though no one really wants to admit, especially not Chrollo himself.

Once Shalnark has gone, Chrollo forces himself to relax.

A fire crackles in the small hearth. The curtains are not drawn, so that he could see the constant snowfall and the occasional gusts of wind and frosted leaves together. He has a small book on his lap, forgotten since this morning when he woke up with a feverish Valtiel beside him. His cup of tea, brewed for him by Pakunoda, has gone cold over the hours of watching over his Kurta.

He leans back on his chair and glares at Valtiel.

 _Everything is perfect until now_ , he thinks. _Did I miscalculate? Did I miss an important piece of her memory, overlook an important detail? No, I did everything perfectly. I could not have missed anything. Her memory of her father and friend should stem from her subconscious._ Then his glare transitions into a look of wonder and realization. His handsome face brightens. _Is Nen incapable of influencing a person's subconscious?_

He looks down again on Valtiel. Instead of feeling disappointment, he smiles and feels rather elated. One more puzzle to solve. One more question that needs answering. He should thank her for entertaining him for this long, for letting him experiment on her for the past four months.

She shivers and rolls on her side, facing Chrollo. Her lips move in her sleep.

For a moment, he braces himself to hear another name. Perhaps the name of her grandfather this time.

Then, she opens her eyes again. Chrollo leans forward and sees the tinge of bright scarlet dancing around the golden flecks in her eyes. His breath hitches. Would he be able to see her Scarlet Eyes again?

"Danchou…" Valtiel mumbles. The unshed tears make her eyes glassy, and the tinge of scarlet barely seen. It is still there, pale scarlet on gold. Mesmerizing. To Chrollo, she looks more beautiful like this. "Danchou−"

"I am here." He takes her hand and kisses the inside of her wrist, above the pulse there. "I am here, Val."

"Stay." Her eyes close, her breathing slows. "Don't leave me."

"I won't," he promises.

 _Not while you're beautiful in your Scarlet Eyes_.

"I would never leave you."

 _Not while you are far more engaging than puzzles, books, and tests_.

"I am here for you."

 _Until I have had my fill of you._

"For always."

 _Only until you are broken._

* * *

Shalnark and his group returns later that afternoon, when the sun is starting to set behind the snow-capped mountains. He delivers the medicine to their leader and takes a curious glance at the Kurta. She looks well enough, and Danchou also seems animated, for some reason. Shrugging, Shalnark leaves the pair on their own and joins the Spiders in the spacious living room, nestling with them before the imposing fireplace.

Chrollo gives Valtiel the medicine and continues reading his book. He is indulging himself with the fairytale story of the dragon-king and the knight. He has a small dictionary to help him with the words, until seventy pages later, when he has finally understood the basics and is able to read the narrative without a guide.

About an hour later, a weak voice comes from the bed.

"Hey."

"Hello, dear." Chrollo smiles down on her. He sets his book on his lap and feels for her forehead. "How do you feel? I gave you medicine an hour ago. Do you feel any difference?"

"Only a little," she murmurs. She notices the book and sits up, leaning against the headboard. Her head swims from the movements, but she tries to ignore as she braids her thick hair over one shoulder. "I had a strange dream, and an even stranger question. Do you have time to answer me?"

He finds her asking permission fascinating. He gestures with his left hand. "Do tell."

Her eyes stare at his face for a while, searching for a tease. There is nothing.

"What is Nen?" she asks bluntly. "I dreamed of the night when we stole the red dragon painting, and again of last night, when Jørn warned me about a Nen ability. What is it? What does it do exactly?"

Chrollo could not decide which one was worse: her asking about Nen or asking about Jørn. She dared remember the man who tried seducing her, right in front of Chrollo no less. It was to add insult to an insult, and he killed Jørn right where he stood for that. He supposed asking about Nen is inevitable. Being around the Phantom Troupe for so long could only lead to strange questions.

"Nen is simply a martial art that allows an individual to become stronger," he answers.

"You lie to me," she mumbles, her voice crestfallen.

"Why do you think so?" An eyebrow raises.

"Summoning a carnivorous fish to fight is not a martial art. Nor does emitting images from faraway places. And last night, I saw Yuan-san change his entire body to iron. That's not a martial art either." She levels him with a serious look on her face. She tilts her head to the side. "It is more like magic… or power…"

He caresses the bridge of his nose. "Comparing Nen to magic is the most ridiculous thing I heard."

She throws his pillow at his face.

"But, since you have seen through my lie, I shall give you an answer. You can decide whether it is still a lie or not." He lets the silence hang for a brief moment, before speaking again. "Do you believe that humans have a life energy that surrounds them?"

"Well, I did read something about life energy in a book," she says thoughtfully. "Something about an energy that animates the entire world, even the animals and trees, though the term and the nature is quite different between cultures." She tilts her head to the other side and blinks. "Which culture are we talking about, Danchou?"

Despite himself, Chrollo chuckles. "No, it is not from a culture," he explains kindly. "Though you are still right about a life energy that some cultures have integrated into their religions. But no, we are not talking about that kind of life energy. Nen−" He takes a pen and writes a symbol on the back of his book−"is manipulating your own life energy and use it to your advantage, as you see fit."

She understands the gist of it. "Oh, you mean weaponizing your own life energy?"

He nods, quite impressed. "As a matter of fact, yes. Weaponizing." He likes that word.

"Would you teach me?" She measures the sudden dark shadow crossing his face. For sure, she knows he would object to such a thing.

When he does not reply, and goes back to his book instead of answering her question, she feels irritated and forces herself to sit on the edge of the bed, her legs tucked between Chrollo's open legs as he sits on his chair. Her hands rest on the chair's arms, trapping him. Her voice is torn between pleading and demanding.

"Would you teach me Nen, Danchou? Please?"

Chrollo ignores her still. He flips to another page.

Her eyebrow twitches at his blatant ignoring of her. Valtiel narrows her eyes and leans forward, her nose almost to his forehead, his wild dark bangs tickling her cheeks. "Danchou," she whispers.

Mischievously stubborn, arrogant, and teasing−Chrollo remains impassive.

"Danchou," she says again, wanting to tug at his bed hair. "Please…?"

"Do you remember anything you said a little while ago?" he asks instead.

"What do you mean?"

"While you were waking up, you were saying something," Chrollo says softly, knowing that he is treading on thin ice here. Valtiel's survival depends on her next answers. "Do you remember what you said?"

"No," she answers, a bit wary of his enigmatic question. "I couldn't even remember much of my own dreams." She gulps. "Why do you ask?"

He smiles at her. Such a strange young man. Chrollo Lucilfer smiles and reaches out to her. His thumb grazes over her flushed cheek, his fingers curling around her tangled locks.

To think that he actually thought of stangling her a while ago for things she has no control of. To think that he felt threatened from the fact that she almost remembered her real past... He now feels rather silly for worrying about a dead father and childhood friend.

Chrollo gathers her pale blonde hair in one fist, cranes her neck open for him, as he leans down to plant a soft kiss on the hollow of her throat, just where the pulse is. Her skin is warm and creamy, smelling so much of vanilla. He kisses her there and pulls back, only to have the absolute pleasure of seeing her confused and blushing.

Valtiel puts a hand where his lips have been. "What was that for?"

"Nothing." He settles back on his chair, legs crossed. "Never mind, Val."

She pouts, and Chrollo has to hide a smile behind his book. "Then, Danchou..."

"Hm?" Finally, he looks up, though he blinks so innocently as if he did not notice her sitting in front of him with her face so closer to his own, close enough that their noses are almost brushing. He smiles his smooth, polite smile. "Did you want something, Val?"

"Teach me Nen."

"No. Why should I? You have no need for weaponizing your life energy." Then he looks back down to his fairytale story and flips to the next page. It depicts a colored picture of the dragon's black-and-gold flames and the armored knight using his magic shield to protect himself. "You literally have thirteen powerful Nen users to protect you," he says at length. "No need to worry about anything else. Leave everything to me."

She sighs and draws away from him. Chrollo glances at her, wondering where all the dominance went. He quite enjoys having her act domineering towards him. "Never mind," she mutters and stands up.

"Where are you going?" He watches as she takes one of his dark blue fur-trimmed coats and wraps it around her smaller frame. The sleeves hang past her hands, the coat's hem falling to her bare thighs.

"Downstairs." She ignores the constant painful thrumming in her head. She puts on a pair of knee-high socks and heads for the door. Then, as if a thought crosses her mind, she pauses and glares at him. "Oh, and for the record−I so hate you today, Danchou."

Valtiel reaches the wooden staircase and stands at the top. Below her, seated on the bearskin rug and warmed by the fire, are the Spiders in their fuzzy winter clothes. Everyone looks up from their card game, though only Shalnark, Pakunoda, and Omokage smile to see her up and about. She joins them then, more at ease around them now that the Danchou is ignoring her question on purpose.

Shalnark playfully shoves at Nobunaga and pats the space next to him. "Sit, Val!"

Phinks blinks at her. "You're supposed to be sick, y'know."

"You look rather well. How are you feeling?" Machi murmurs behind her fan of cards.

"I feel fine," Valtiel says, already easing everyone's curiosity. "My head still aches but the fever has gone down. My skin still feels like burning though."

"Because you scratched too hard," Feitan snaps. His skull bandana is around his neck like a scarf.

"It should be fine now," Machi tells the ill-tempered Spider. "I found an herbal balm for the scratches."

"Ew!" Nobunaga cringes and pinches his nose. He scoots away from Valtiel and hides behind Machi. "So that's what I have been smelling! Machi, your herbal balm smells like shit!"

She rolls her eyes and nudges him away from her. "Stop whinging."

Shalnark and Phinks snicker at the term.

Valtiel smiles at their warm familiarity with each other, feeling quite out of place among them. Her memories are still hazy, though she knows she grew up in Meteor City with them. Her grandfather is the Elder. Her parents died of sickness. She had no brothers and sisters but the Phantom Troupe. No other place in the world but with the Phantom Troupe. Yet, seated among the Troupe's founding members and joining them in their card game, she feels no sense of familiarity with any of them.

The constant banters and trash talking, the friendly competitions, the strange friendship of barking insults to each other but still end up drinking beers at the end of the day−that is something Valtiel does not understand. Chrollo always assures her that her memories would one day return to her, let her remember everyone she loves and cares for so deeply. She has scant memories of them playing together−yes−but the warmth and care in those memories are never present now. Instead of feeling like a family, she feels like an outsider, most especially when Feitan snaps at her, or when Nobunaga complains about her presence. Instead of being together, she is always left out to Chrollo's care, with the Troupe members none too pleased to be babysitting her−as Feitan once referred to it.

Times like these, when she sits among them as they argue and play games, she senses like she is intruding on an intimate friendship that the Spiders make her feel she could never comprehend. Whenever they glare or snort or generally try to get away from her as if she is a walking plague, it is always best to go back to the bedroom, sit quietly, and read books with Chrollo.

"Do you know how to play UNO?" Shalnark asks warmly.

"Um−" Valtiel already feels the dread. She is afraid to disappoint them, afraid to look up and see Feitan sneering at her ignorance. Perhaps she should have stayed with Danchou. "No, I don't."

Cue the annoyed snort from Feitan.

Shalnark's face brightens as he laughs. "That's okay! Nobunaga doesn't either! Here, let me explain the rules to both of you…" He grabs the card dispenser and deck from Kortopi. "Listen carefully and, Nobunaga! You should be listening to this, too."

Five minutes after the explanation, the game starts. The players? Shalnark, Valtiel, Nobunaga, Machi, Phinks, Feitan, and Kortopi−in a large circle.

Much later, Chrollo hears obscenities being shouted from the living room. He is not surprised that his friends are arguing again, but he is quite concerned since Valtiel should be among them. Why should his friends shout insults and threats to one another, in this quiet time of the night? With a sigh, he discards his book and takes his mug as an excuse to go downstairs and to the kitchenette.

He stands at the top of the staircase and blinks. The Armonia stands by the fireplace, its countless gems winking under the red glare. His Spiders are playing some sort of a colorful card game.

And almost all players are hurling threats after threats. Chrollo could not even pinpoint which one is complaining. Only he knows that Phinks and Nobunaga are the loudest.

"−Outrageous!−"

"−It's supposed to be green now.−"

"−Should be yellow. Go back to first grade, Fei−"

"−Never went to school in the first place, idiot−"

"−Some impressive bullshit. Draw four, Shal!–"

"−I'm hungry… Wait, it's my turn, Machi−"

"−I have some food in the fridge for the little kiddo−"

"−Can I have some?−"

"−Absolutely not!−"

"−I have a wild card… What should I do with it?–"

"−Choose red. I have lots of red−"

"−Okay−"

"−I said red, not blue! What, are you deaf–"

"−Sorry, Nobu-san. I didn't think you'd fall for that−"

"−You cheeky kid!–"

"−This game sucks _balls_!–"

"−Um, Phink-san, why does the deck keep on getting higher?–"

"−WHAT?! Kortopi, stop making copies!–"

"−Fine. Draw four, Shal−"

"−I hate this game−"

"−Yeah, whatever. I choose yellow−"

Chrollo Lucilfer has his full attention on the players, eyes on Phinks's exasperated face as he draws two more cards. The insults keep coming, though they all fall on deaf ears as everyone just laughs and keeps drawing cards. He taps his chin, quite thoughtful, as he watches Valtiel laugh in excitement and amusement along with the others. Apparently, in their game, Shalnark is close to losing.

He turns to Franklin, seated by the window again. "What are they playing?"

Franklin wrinkles his nose. "Something called UNO."

"Oh, never heard of it." Chrollo returns to the players and hides a laugh when Nobunaga, already pulling at his topknot in extreme distress, shouts another insult at Machi. "Looks rather fun."

"I wouldn't get close."

"You don't want to play?"

"Not with these idiots, no," Franklin says, with a hint of tease.

Back in the game, somebody already shouts "UNO!"

Machi stands from the circle of players, a triumphant gleam in her blue eyes. She has the gall to smirk down on Nobunaga's bewildered face, Shalnark's shocked one, and Feitan's uncaring one. She sidesteps from the circle and the surprised and sudden silence continues to engulf the entire lodging. Approaching their leader and Franklin by the window, she takes one last glance on the players' daze and smirks again.

Phinks flips the dispenser and the cards.

"−This friendship is _over_!–"

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Look who's back to update this story! Now, this chapter is a bit short while also focusing on the aftermath of their mission. The Spiders finally getting their treasure, some shenanigans, and of course, the ChroVal dynamics (no matter how strange and crazy these two could get).

What do you guys think about Val learning Nen? Should she go through it? Who will train her? What is her Nen type? And what kind of ability would she have?

And wow! I didn't expect for the last chapter to be received quite warmly! I worried that it was too dark and kinda mature for some readers, but I am grateful (as always) for everyone's kindness.

The reviews from the last chapter are, hands down, the BEST set of reviews that I have ever read for this story! I love reading lengthy reviews. I am always tired and stressed from my new work, but reading from you all extremely makes my day. Which is why I'm also updating this week because I love you all!

* **xenocanaan** \- That's true; Val had no choice but to stay with theTroupe. Ooh boy! When Hisoka shows up, I do wonder what kind of storm this magician would brew. Transmuters are unpredictable and whimsical after all! And yes, Chrollo did kill Jorn out of his possessiveness. It's petty, but hey! No one touches Val but the Danchou!

* **Dontcha** \- I was at work when I read your review and I'm telling you−I really laughed _aloud._ You think they have sexual tension now? Let's wait for a few more chapters. Who knows... Maybe Chrollo will up his game if he feels threatened again. In the meantime, you have this teeny bit of tension especially from me.

* **Dear author** \- Awesome catch on the "Valtiel" thingy, with either Chrollo or Val figuratively worshipping each other. And I'm glad that you see Val as being good and honorable. It would take a lot of traumas to daunt her. Also, Phinks and Val, eh? Thanks for giving me an idea when it comes to these two! Haha!

* **Amy** \- Yes, Chrollo is the Jerk of the Year. Now, I'm really surprised with the people noticing Phinks and Val more. Hhmmm... Is there something I should know? Kidding! But yes, everyone's relationship with Val slightly turned up a notch.

* **Mia Mena** \- Thank you for rereading the story! I'm relieved that you find the characters' portrayal enough sincethe Troupe is certainly complicated. Now that you've mentioned the gentle Chrollo, I do think that his gentle demeanor is going to crack soon... Val better watch out. And thank you so much for taking time to review!

* **PLEASE UPDATE** \- I hope you like this one! Haha.

* **AwkwardBlackCat** \- lndeed, Chrollo is a bastard. If you ask me, he is a bastard of another level. He certainly loves seeing Val uncomfortable. And parading her off, definitely a plus! Just no touching though... Danchou doesn't want dirt on his precious plaything. Yeah, right, Chrollo! You're right about the Spiders being all proud and corrupting her, with Chrollo at the forefront of it all. And it's wonderful to know that you like the setup of the chapters. Made me laugh about things going downhill for our girl.

Okay! Now that that's finished, I just realized that I should probably start a GoFundMe for Valtiel so she can leave the Spiders and start looking for Kurapika. This poor girl needs a break. Who's with me?!

P.S. Thank you all so much for the kind reviews! Please keep them coming! 💕


	16. Chapter XVI

**Chapter XVI**

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

"Not yet."

"I was talking to Franklin-san."

Chrollo glares up from his book and finds Valtiel smirking at him over her shoulder.

She scoots closer to the driver's seat and peeps behind Franklin's massive build. "Are we there yet?"

"Close." Franklin glances at her on the mirror, and then to their Danchou, who sulks back on his seat and raises his hardbound book so that it covers his entire face. Franklin could not help but smile a little, finding their interaction somewhat strange and amusing. Not one of the Troupe members has the gall to talk back to their leader, but here is the Kurta girl that none of the Spiders respect, teasing him.

"I can't wait to see home." Valtiel returns on her side of the car and looks outside the window. The land is dreary and barren as far as the eyes could see; there are no signs of life or vegetation, no skyscrapers or shops. She cranes her neck upwards and spots few black birds flying around.

"You'd find it warmer than this landscape," Bonolenov, seated on the passenger's seat, comments. He turns back to see her nodding at him. "There's nothing for a while but this wide stretch of land."

"Why is no one developing it?" she asks them. "There's still so much land."

"Because we do not have the resources," Chrollo answers, face still covered by his book. "Meteor City is as spacious as it can get, and the citizens are quite fine with their living space."

"And the Mafia doesn't like the idea of Meteor City expanding," Franklin adds.

"Why not?" She looks back and forth from Franklin to Chrollo. "What is the Mafia have to do with anything?"

"The Mafia means everything." Chrollo turns big, round eyes at her and stares. In that silent communication, his message comes across to the young woman and she nods again, letting her questions end at that. He flicks his attention to Franklin and their eyes meet on the rearview mirror. Once again, his message is sent and a comfortable silence hangs between the four of them.

A few minutes of staring out her window, Valtiel perks up on her seat as she notices a dark, smoky city looming on the lifeless horizon. As the car approaches, she presses herself closer to the window−various people have started emerging from the place, gathering around the entrance, all of them garbed in a wide array of clothes and accessories. Most are adults, dark-faced and sneering, almost reminding her of Feitan. Others, high-ranking ones perhaps, are dressed from head to toe in white protective gears and goggles. Despite the differences, they all gather to meet the car as Franklin swerves it to a stop in front of the crowd.

Franklin and Bonolenov get out first. Chrollo follows, and for one reluctant moment, Valtiel. She has one hand over her heart as she studies each face sneering at her, as if she has done something wrong. This is not home at all. This is not the warm place Bono told her about.

A large, warm hand touches the small of her back. She blinks and turns to Chrollo, her eyebrows knitted together. He only smiles at her−his gentle, reassuring smile−and takes her by the hand towards a small group of masked individuals.

"Welcome back," one of them says.

"It has been a while," Chrollo agrees. He observes the entirety of the place, nodding to the people he recognizes and smiles to those he doesn't. More than a few have come to see them again. "Where's the Elder? I wish to speak with him first."

"Who's the girl?" The man jerks his head to Valtiel.

"That's what I am here for," Chrollo says. He feels Valtiel clutching at the sleeve of his dark suit. His gaze on the short man never flickers. "I need to speak with the Elder."

The man appears as if he would have prolonged the conversation, but then he nods. His small group parts at the middle and he gestures a hand towards a middle-sized church at the heart of the city. "He is in a meeting with the others," the man says. "You can wait for him there."

Chrollo smiles again. "Of course. Thank you." And he turns to Franklin and Bonolenov. "You stay here for a while. I have an important matter to discuss with the Elder. Franklin, Bono−the two of you keep Valtiel outside, make sure no one comes contact with her until I returned. Especially not the adults."

Bonolenov salutes with a gloved hand. "Understood, Danchou."

"Wait−" Valtiel grabs the hem of his sleeve and forces him to face her. She takes a cautionary glance around herself and pulls herself flush against him, to whisper in his ear. "Take me with you."

"I should be back shortly," he assures her. He removes her hand on his sleeve and presses a feather-light kiss on her knuckles, and then gently pushes her back towards Franklin. "Stay."

"I am not a dog," she mutters under her breath, but still loud enough to earn a soft chuckle from Chrollo and a horrified gasp from the two Spiders at her sides. She sighs, holding her hands together, letting the stinking air that has been hanging heavily in the atmosphere, stir her hair.

Franklin's large and heavy hand falls softly on her head. He ruffles her hair a little, eliciting a quiet laugh from her. He grins down. "You let Danchou handle everything, Val. He knows what he's doing."

She purses her lips. _Does he?_ For a moment, she feels as if she has been in the same situation as before−trusting Danchou to do everything while she sits back and wait, like an obedient puppy. She realizes then how much she hates leaving everything to him when she could do things by herself, that she should be treated like an invalid when she has a mind and body to use for herself. Her frown deepens as Chrollo disappears into the church. Her eyes are boring through the church's double doors so intense that she did not notice a pair of children gathered around her.

Blinking, she turns golden eyes to the children's faces. Their eyes are big and round−like Chrollo's−and are filled with brightness and wonder−like Chrollo's. She melts at the sight of them and smiles. "Hi."

"Who are you?" asks a tall boy, dark-haired and grey-eyed.

"My name is Valtiel," she answers, feeling a familiar warmth swell in her heart. "What is your name?"

"I am not supposed to tell my name to strangers," he retorts, very stubborn.

"Hey," comes Franklin's voice filled with authority. "Play nice with her."

The boy snorts and sticks out a tongue at the large man. Then he turns narrowed eyes back to Valtiel. "I saw you arrive with the Phantom Troupe. Are you a member, too? Their newest member?"

Again, Franklin scolds the boy. "Warren, that's too far."

Valtiel shakes her head at the boy's stubbornness. In her eyes, he could be no more than fifteen years old−already quite tall for his age, with a gaunt face and skinny limbs, dressed in rags and wears no shoes. Observing that the children are dressed the same, she rather feels out of place, dressed in an off-shoulder lavender dress and white low-heeled shoes. Why did Chrollo have to insist her wearing such, in a place like this? Then again, the leader himself is wearing one of his elegant black suits.

Suddenly, a young girl of about six years old tugs at her skirts. She has dark blonde hair and bright brown eyes. A ragdoll is tucked in her elbow. "Are you Chrollo's girlfriend, miss?"

"What…?" Valtiel, Franklin, and Bonolenov ask at the same time.

"Well, you arrived with the Spiders and that's the first time Chrollo brought someone back," the girl explains.

"I don't think−" Valtiel sputters, at an extreme loss for words. She flushes in embarrassment and looks over her shoulder to ask for help.

Much to her chagrin, Franklin pretends to be busy scolding some of the children and Bonolenov coughs and whistles. She pouts at their helplessness, before turning back and kneeling in front of the young girl.

Then a mischievous idea pops. "I am not sure if I am even allowed to answer that question. Why don't you ask him when he returns?"

"Oh, okay!" The girl beams, very enlightened.

"What's your name?"

"I'm Julia!" she chirps, and holds up her doll. "And this is Julia!"

Valtiel laughs and points at the little girl. "You both have the same name?"

Julia hugs her doll to her chest, combing the yarn hair. "My mama said Julia is a pretty name, so I wanted to give my doll the same name. Your name is pretty, too, Valtiel. Oh, I know! If I get another doll, I'd name her after you! Is that okay?"

"I would be very honored, Julia." Valtiel smiles and pats the girl's head. "Thank you."

"Where did you come from?" the dark-haired boy asks again.

"I live here."

"You? No way. I don't know you!"

"Warren," Franklin says in a warning tone. The giant steps forward and casts a large shadow over them all. Eyes narrowed, lips curled into a sneer, Franklin has his threat on point. "That's enough."

"It's fine, Franklin-san," Valtiel soothes the large Spider. She faces Warren again and meets his scowl with a smile of her own. The boy continues scowling at her. She could not blame him. "I lived here in Meteor City for a time, and then I went to travel around with the Troupe. I had an accident a few months ago and now I could not remember much of my past."

"You don't remember anything at all?" Warren asks.

"Well, I do remember a few bits, but most of them are still dark." She reaches out to pat his dark hair, but he slaps her hand away and steps backwards. "That's why I came back home, to remember more."

Franklin and Bonolenov exchange cautious glances at each other.

Julia then gives out a gasp of delight and bounces on her little feet. Cheeks burning with excitement, she points an index finger towards the church, where Chrollo is now approaching them. She immediately breaks into a run and clings onto the man's pant leg. "Chrollo!"

The Spider leader chuckles and pats her head. "Hello, Julia. How are you?"

"I am so very good!"

"And how is little Julia?"

The child holds up her ragdoll. "Also good!"

Chrollo's dark eyes soften. "That's good to know," he says and takes Julia by the hand as they walk back towards the others. He meets Warren's dark look and scowl, and decides to ignore the boy. He lets go of Julia's hand as the little girl then jumps to clutch at Valtiel's skirts. "So you've met each other."

"Is she your girlfriend, Chrollo?"

"Wh-What…?"

"I asked her and she won't tell me," Julia explains, sounding a little impatient. Her eyes are wide with a child's utmost curiosity. Even Warren takes a one bold step forward, eager to hear anything new about the Phantom Troupe. Julia blinks brown eyes at Chrollo, and then at Valtiel. "She told me to ask you the same question when you return. So, is she?"

Chrollo glares at Valtiel, who only smirks cattily back at him. In the back of his mind, he knows she must have set this up, either for her enjoyment or his discomfort. Damned woman.

Julia tugs at his pant leg. "So, is she?"

"Are you not far too young about asking such questions?" Chrollo sighs. Questions with this nature are harder to answer than an ancient puzzle. He gazes at Valtiel again, his dark intense eyes on her golden ones, and ever so slowly, his lips smirk. "In either case, I do not think _girlfriend_ is a proper term. Valtiel is undoubtedly more than what a girlfriend is. She is more of a partner." He breaks eye contact with Valtiel and peers down on Julia. "Do you understand now?"

"Yes, I think so."

"I don't." Warren rolls his eyes.

"Why don't you two go back home?" Chrollo prompts. "We have business with the Elder. Go ahead. We can all talk later, if you come visiting us in the church." He watches as Warren takes Julia's hand and leads her away. She waves a hand back to them and Chrollo smiles at her.

Then his smile dies down as he glares back at Valtiel. "What was that all about?"

She shrugs, acting the innocent. "I don't know. She suddenly asked me and I have no idea what she is talking about," she says in her defense, sensing that the man is nowhere amused to be subjected in such questions. She finds it a pity at best: as handsome and gentlemanly as he is, it is a pity Chrollo has no time for romance. "Have you talked to the Elder?"

"Yes, and you're coming inside with me." He slips his hand in hers and leads the way.

"So… partner, huh?" Valtiel peeks at him under her lashes. "Like partners-in-crime?"

"You're not a criminal."

"That's correct, but I do not condone the Troupe's actions. Does that make me an accomplice?"

"Perhaps." A shadow crosses his face as he glances at her. "Though 'partner' is a very vague term, wouldn't you agree? In normal circumstances, a partner can be someone from business−and we are not on a business. It could mean as a team−but we are not the only ones in the team. And as you always say, you are not a member of the Troupe. At best… partner should mean being in an established relationship−"

"Which, obviously, we are not," she interrupts.

"Obviously," he agrees, glowering.

"So, if not partners, then what should we call it?"

"There's the Elder," he interrupts in a hurry. "We can have this conversation next time perhaps."

Inside the church, a small group of short men are seated by the altar. Some are still in their protective gears, others are not, revealing elderly men with thinning hair and white beards. There are seven of them, including the short yet imposing figure seated at the center. He has no gear on, only loose grey robes and a ruby pendant. He is small and bald, with shrunken hands and dreary brown eyes.

Valtiel takes her hand from Chrollo and rushes towards the old man. She wraps her arms around his neck, presses her cheek against his wrinkled temple, and begins to sob. "Grandfather…"

Chrollo quietly studies the exchange.

"My dear girl…" the Elder says in a thoughtful tone. His brown eyes search for the Phantom Troupe leader and a shadow of a doubt seizes his senses. Still, he plays his part well and embraces the sobbing young woman closer, the memories of his own grandchildren long gone flashing back to him. "Oh, dearest Valtiel… You are finally home… Here, let me see you, child…"

"Grandfather…" Valtiel sits back on her haunches, trying to make sense of these strange feelings she has. In her earliest memories she sees him, her grandfather the Elder of the clan, yet now, at arm's length from the only family she has left, something feels odd. Something is not right. Her grandfather is before her, yet she could feel no warmth−only confusion and doubt.

"Do you remember me, child?" her grandfather prompts.

"Yes." She forces the doubt in the back of her mind, and smiles in reassurance. "I do remember you. I remember our home and Meteor City. I remember my childhood with the Troupe members."

"I am relieved to hear it," he replies, running a bony finger across her damp cheek. "I was worried when Chrollo told me about the accident. He warned me that you might have troubles remembering."

"I do, but−" She shakes her head, more tears falling. "I am trying my best to remember. We came back here so I could remember more. Every day there is a new memory, I promise. All I need to do is piece everything back together." Valtiel could hear the desperateness in her voice, almost pleading, almost afraid that Chrollo−and now her grandfather−would be extremely disappointed if she does not remember more. She does not want to disappoint; she does not want to be weak amongst strong people.

The Elder smiles kindly at her outburst. "You should not worry so, my child. You will remember again. Stay here for as long as you like. Or would you leave and travel again with the Troupe?"

She shoots Chrollo the same questioning expression.

"We are planning to stay here for a while," the young man answers. "The Troupe has just finished our series of missions and everyone else is busy doing their own thing. The four of us might stay here for a few weeks."

"That sounds good." The Elder pats Valtiel's hand to calm her. "In those few weeks, I am sure you will remember your family and home. You can wander around and search for something that interests you. You can choose to stay here in the church and help us with the sick ones. You are free here, my child."

"But of course we would need lodging," Chrollo prompts.

"Lodging." The Elder nods to one of the men beside him. The latter stands up and would then start preparing the rooms. "We turned some floors upstairs into guest rooms. You can take four of them."

"We need only three."

"Three? But there are four of you."

Chrollo stares back.

The Elder chuckles, mostly to himself. He glances at Valtiel, and then to the young man's face. "I see, I understand now, Mister Lucilfer. Is this okay, though? A young man and a woman, together in the same bed, without any relationship whatsoever." His eyes harden at Chrollo. "Or am I mistaken?"

"That is something I do not wish to elaborate."

"Ah, then I can ask my granddaughter." The old man pats her hand again. "Is there something between you and Chrollo Lucilfer, my dear? You can tell me, child. You are my responsibility after all."

Glowering still, Chrollo crosses his arms over his chest and waits for an answer.

"I could say that we are partners," Valtiel answers, careful and evasive. She glances back at Chrollo and smiles her devious smile, though she has no plans antagonizing him in front of the elderly. "But not in the nature of business or team partners but… partners…"

"If you say so, then three rooms. Would that satisfy you both?"

"Yes, Elder. Thank you," says Chrollo.

"Good. Then be on your way now." The old man cups Valtiel's cheek and wipes her tear with his thumb. Despite his almost blind eyes, he could still see the youthful face and bright golden eyes. "Dry your tears, child. You are home now. And you will remember everything while you're here."

* * *

Sunset comes fast in Meteor City.

The assembly of elders granted them the best and largest room they could offer. It has a twin-sized bed with a small bedside table and oil lamp, a wooden desk and chair pressed to the left. There are no closets, leaving their clothes and other possessions stuffed in their luggage. To the right is a wide window, facing towards the lifeless brown stretch of land and towards the reddening horizon.

Chrollo returns to their room with a sandwich and can of juice. "Here, I brought you something."

Valtiel turns her back against the sunset and rests her hip on the wall. "Where did you get that?"

"Downstairs. There's a group that always volunteers to cook meals for everyone."

"Where do they get the money?"

"I hear they have connections to the outside world. There are times when the Mafia would dump food from helicopters, but that is quite rare." He joins her by the window and sips his coffee. His formal black suit is gone, leaving him with a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. He observes the sunset for a while, and offers his coffee to her. "Taste?"

She takes a modest sip and hums. "Not bad. I like it."

He smiles and gives her the sandwich. "What do you think of Meteor City?"

"I think it is marvelous, though the scenery is not exactly as I remember," she says with caution and catches the amused glint in his dark eyes. She rolls her eyes at him and continues: "And it is smaller than what I imagined it would be."

"Everything is bigger when you are a child."

"Yes, and I meant to ask you something−" She shoves half of the sandwich into her mouth and points somewhere towards the horizon. "Vas ish thaft pthing?"

"Stop it. That's uncouth, especially for a young lady," he scolds; she giggles and finishes her sandwich. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he could not tell where she learned such bad manners. Did he leave her in Uvogin or Nobunaga's presence for too long that she has adopted their bad manners? Or is she truly like this, even before the retrograde amnesia? If so, then he has much more to change in her.

"So, what is it, Danchou?"

"You know what? Let me show you something. Follow me."

"Where to?" she calls after him, exasperated. "Danchou!"

She groans and follows him out of their room. They race each other towards the church's highest floor.

At the end of the staircase, she spies him opening a barred window. Under his strength, the iron bars bend until there is an opening large enough for either of them. Chrollo steps out first, then offers a hand to her. He heaves her up to the church's flat rooftop. The air up here is fresher and lighter, and the view is a hundredfold better than in their room. The red-and-orange light of sunset spills across the dark blue paint. Chrollo takes her by the hand and they sit on the edge of the roof, their feet dangling in the air.

Valtiel clutches Chrollo's left sleeve as if her dear life depends on it.

"What's wrong, dear?" he croons at her.

"If you haven't noticed, we are too high and if I fall you would have to bury my broken body. And if that is not enough for you, you would have to tell my grandfather how sorry you are for letting me fall, Danchou."

"You think so lowly of me." He chuckles and points to his left. "You wanted to know about that thing in the horizon, right? That is a construction site for more houses. Meteor City has been around for centuries but we never had proper resources and connections until recently."

"Oh?" She blinks. Curiosity overwhelms fear. "Why is that?"

"The Mafia community monitors everything that happens in this place," he explains. "In fact, I would not be surprised if they have a tracker that monitors who enters and leaves the city. They are invested in this place because our citizens do not exist in any records. We are essentially nothing to the other countries. The Mafia benefits from that sole fact: they can hire untraceable assassins and bodyguards for their advantage."

"And in return?" she prompts. "What does Meteor City get in return of human resources?"

He smiles and peers down. A group of children are running around below them. "Weapons."

Her eyes follow his own. In a moment of complete horror, she could see children as young as Warren and Julia tossing pistols at each other as if they are balls. Not far from the playing group is another child tinkering with what appears to be a machine gun. She is too aghast that she could not form the words. She turns to Chrollo, finds him smiling, and still she is speechless. These are _children_ , who should be enjoying life outdoors by playing with friends, not weapons of any sort.

Chrollo takes her hand and kisses her fingertips, as if that would calm her. "You are horrified."

She snatches her hand from him so abruptly that her body almost slips from the ledge. She steadies herself again, her heart pounding with fear once more. "Children with weapons, Danchou? Come on!"

"I know what you are thinking," he murmurs. "But this is something you cannot change, no matter how much you try. And believe me, many before you have tried and failed. This is our way of life for hundreds of years, Val. You cannot change it because you are against it. The people themselves would not stand for a change. Everyone has grown up under these circumstances, under these rules. You cannot change them."

"But that doesn't mean we won't do anything about it," she counters.

His eyebrows furrow. "What do you mean?"

She gestures to the group of children. "Tell me: what do you see?"

He falls silent as he watches them playing. A switchblade gleams as it flies in the air.

"I see children in the prime of their childhood, making what is best with what their life has to offer them. They are children filled with wonder and thirst for the outside world, but a part of them knows they could not achieve it without making big risks. Most children here have no parents and most have to fight to survive−like we did." The thought of it tugs a sharp pain in his heart. "They look forward to a future that may or may not come to pass, if they ever take risks like we did."

Then he finishes and smiles at her. "Your turn. Tell me what you see."

Valtiel's eyes soften at the children.

"I see a future. You know that saying that children are the hope of the world?" she murmurs and he nods, looking at her thoughtfully. "I believe they are. We live in such shambles everyday that we do not know how to make amends. But the children−we can teach them, and they can learn. They can change the world, but they wouldn't know how unless we show them. And that−" She points at the boy with a switchblade−"is not our future. That is war and fear and suffering. They are young now; they can still learn. Instead of a blade, why not a pen? Instead of guns, why not books?"

"I understand now." Chrollo tucks her hair behind her ears and cups her cheeks in both hands. "Have I ever told you how brilliant you are? If I have not, then I am telling you right now." His thumb caresses the apex of her cheek down to her jaw. "You are brilliant and I adore you."

She scowls at him. "Stop mollycoddling me, Danchou. I am not a child."

He laughs and lets her face go. "But you must tell me more about your ideas," he says. "I am interested and I want to hear all of them. If you so think that children are our future, then what do you suggest now? The children of Meteor City number in hundreds of thousands, if not several millions." He notices the doubt in her face and he softens. "You see? That is too much for you to change. One person cannot change the way of life of a centuries-old city, especially something as Meteor City."

Valtiel shrugs. "I can think of ways."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Do you have a plan then?"

"I do."

"Does it include the Elder?"

"Maybe. I won't tell you."

Chrollo offers a quick, critical glare. "Tease."

"I am not one of your Spiders," she reminds him. "I do not have to answer to you all the time."

"Yes, you may not be one of my Spiders, but you are still travelling with us." A gentle wind blows and stirs his raven hair away from his face. Bathed in the red glow of sunset, he appears more peaceful, making it almost impossible to believe that this man could kill at any moment. Then a smile appears in his face; he looks more charming whenever he smiles. "I seem to recall our previous conversation. We are not partners in every the sense of the word, are we?"

"Guess not." She pulls at the ribbon in her hair, and lets the wave of pale silver-gold over her right shoulder. Her fingers comb through the thick, wavy locks, easing through the tangles. "But we're not friends."

"We're not?" He sounds offended, but his mischievous grin says otherwise.

"Well, you did tell Julia girlfriend is not a proper term," she points out.

"Because the term only applies between people who are dating," he explains. "We're not dating."

"Oh, we're _not_?" She returns the same offended tone.

"Would you prefer it if we are?" He raises a dark eyebrow. "Valtiel?"

With that kind of expression, with that question spoken in a rather husky voice, Valtiel flushes in embarrassment and turns her face away from him. Rather, she keeps her attention working through the tangles, letting the wind stir her lavender skirts.

She does not answer. In fact, she has no answer. She has no idea which card to play−act innocent, misdirect the question, or ignore him. Peeping at him under her lashes and seeing his haughty expectant look, she settles on the second option:

"Oh, I wouldn't presume to be on that level, Danchou," she answers coquettishly. "I am not worthy."

"You think you are not?" he breathes, leaning so close. His index finger takes her chin and prompts her to look at his dark, round eyes. Under the sunset, her golden eyes dance with the red glow. He loves it. "You are unworthy of me, you say?"

"Of the leader of the Phantom Troupe…" Her voice shakes. "Then yes."

"But what of Chrollo Lucilfer?"

He pulls her toward him, his free hand guiding her body as she slides closer over the rooftop's edge, handling her like a porcelain doll. He pulls her so close that she puts up one hand on his chest, to keep the distance. He removes that hand, and holds it away firmly.

"What of Chrollo Lucilfer, Val? Not the leader of the Phantom Troupe. Not the Specialist. Not the thief. Just Chrollo−an orphan boy from Meteor City. Do you think you are worthy of him?"

Valtiel smiles at him, the red glow dancing in her eyes still. "I might."

And he chuckles and kisses her closed eyes. "Of course you are."

* * *

That night, Julia returns home with a full stomach. The dinner of sandwich and juice is delicious, though the line had been too long for her. Good thing Warren was there to snatch two more sandwiches. They ate behind an old rusting pickup truck. That is her home, a pickup truck that houses all the toys she has found over the years. She often asks Warren to join her, since sleeping alone in the dark is nasty, but Warren often reminds her that she is not alone, that she has her toys with her, and Julia would go to sleep with that happy thought in her mind.

She arranges her toys in order. Her most favorite ragdoll takes the center, surrounded by lesser toys: cars with missing tires, a spinning top, stuffed rabbit toy with a slash on its side, some building blocks. She has crayons, too, given to her by one of the elders, which she uses to draw images on the walls and floor.

As she fixes her toys, she notices one is missing−her dollhouse.

"Warren?" Julia yawns and scratches her eyes. "My dollhouse is gone. Did you take it?"

But the dark-haired boy is nowhere to be seen. How strange. He usually sleeps in a tent outside the truck, but he is not there. Julia wonders if he found some food in the trash and decided not to share it with her. She really has no care about food, not when her dollhouse is missing.

Then a shadow towers over her. "Little girl? I have something to ask you."

Julia turns to the speaker. He is a young man with blond hair and kind blue eyes. He wears a very good-looking suit. "Who are you?"

"Oh! I happened to pass by," he says. "I have something for you, but first, you have to answer my question."

"What is it?"

"Do you recognize this lady?" He produces an image of a young woman dressed in a dark blue dress.

Her eyes light up. She bounces even. "That's Valtiel, Chrollo's girlfriend!"

The man sounds perplexed. "Chrollo?"

"Yes! They arrived just this afternoon! That's Valtiel!"

"I see." He pockets the image and nods. "Thank you. You've been very helpful." He starts walking away, and then pauses and turns back to her. He waves a hand and says, "Your dollhouse… I found it over there."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Oops! Sorry I didn't update for last week. Things were quite a bit busy and stressful at work, but all your lovely reviews are always so very uplifting whenever I read them at the end of the day. I can't thank you guys enough for all the support I'm getting from this story! I was meaning to write a Valentine's Day-related chapter, but due to the lack of laptop, I really couldn't write my ideas down. Maybe I could post a special one-shot once I have the chapter finished. I'll let everyone know when it's published.

And so, here we are... where the Phantom Troupe began. We have some insight from Chrollo about the dynamics in Meteor City and consequently, the Mafia. We will learn more as the story progresses, but for now, let's have Chrollo and Val _low-key_ flirting with each other. (◕ᴗ◕✿) W̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶b̶o̶i̶ ̶P̶h̶i̶n̶k̶s̶ ̶a̶t̶?̶ (ง •̀_•́)ง

* **Amy** \- Oh, my! Thanks for the double reviews! Yes, I am doing well, just a bit busy with real life stuff. Haha! The last chapter was indeed kinda disturbing, considering how casually Chrollo thinks of killing Val then and there. 😱 All those gentle acts can turn into a gruesome scene if Val's not careful enough. It's already an abusive relationship... either Val gets out of it on her own or Kurapika will drag her away. Or maybe Hisoka? Hhmm...

* **xenocaanan** \- Thank you! Family and friends meant a lot to Val long before the Troupe got hold of her. No amount of Nen can stop that! Muahaha!

* **Dear author** \- Kurapika will definitely play a role in the future. Can't say what for now, but he would be there. He might be furious, he might feel betrayed... Who knows? As for the age gap, Kurapika was 12 or 13 when he left and Val was 18. Five years aren't so badn right? And yay! Did you say Val and Phinks together? I better come up with a ship name for these two, haha! I'm glad you remembered that her real name is Valaerys. I feels like a lifetime ago. She has always been Valtiel to us for a long time now. Thank you for the excellent review! You have my love!

* **Dontcha** \- Jealous Chrollo is such a delicious moment. He might be my love, but Phinks does have my vote on this one. I also love my Gucci boi Phinks! Let Chrollo have his fun with Val before she gets fed up and maybe run into the sunset with anoher man. 😂

* **ChroVal** \- Definitely loving your username! Sleep is for the weak! Keep reading! Nah, just kidding! I love you and you gotta get enough rest, okay? Danchou wants you to have good rest and good health!

* **Mia Mena** \- Your comment about Chrollo's gentle act fading away was timing to that one time he almost slipped. His unpredictability is jarring. Val won't be best pleased, for sure. They appear to be devoted to each other, but deep down, they have doubts with each other. Also, advanced happy birthday! May you have a wonderful time with your loved ones! Val is also greeting you! ❤

* **Eric** \- Here you go! Hope you enjoy this one!

P.S. Thank you so much, guys!


	17. Chapter XVII

**Chapter XVII**

* * *

The debate has been going on for almost two hours.

Chrollo Lucilfer sits with his leg crossed over the other, his chin propped at the heel of his palm, his raven hair hanging over his forehead. The debate started after breakfast, and with lunch now fast approaching, he could tell that they are nowhere near conclusion. He decides to stay quiet and observant, seated at Valtiel's right side as she argues with seven elderly men, trying to get her point across their thick skulls. At best, he is amused to watch her argue so passionately about her ideals, to see her cheeks burning with color, her eyes dark with resolve. At worst, he keeps a hand on her sleeve, to keep her from pouncing across the round table and probably slap some sense into the old men.

His dark eyes keep going back and forth as the debate continues.

"As I keep telling you, we cannot afford a school," one of the elders, Koran, snaps at Valtiel. "Have you taken a good look of the place, young lady? We live among scraps and weapons. We receive our food from the dump and whatever the Mafia brings us. A school is last of our concerns."

"You have already started the construction of the homes, have you not?" she fires back, her hands flat on the polished surface of the table. "Why not go further and build a school for your children?"

"I have no children," Koran growls.

"It's a metaphor, you god-rotting stupid−"

Chrollo hides a snicker behind his hand.

"You are among the Elders. Of course every child in Meteor City is your child, your responsibility," Valtiel finishes.

One of the bearded men shakes his head. He has sad, droopy eyes and an ugly scar across his nose. "I understand your meaning, Valtiel, but you must listen. We do not have the resources for that. We can barely provide for all the citizens now. What more to afford a school? To keep its maintenance?"

She rounds on him. "I thought Meteor City has connections with the outside world. I thought there is a give-and-take relationship between the city and the Mafia community?"

Koran speaks again. "That is only between weapons and assassins. We provide them human resources; they give us weapons in return. It is a simple logic that we go by."

"Then why couldn't we ask for more?" She whirls, eyes narrowed. "Surely, the Mafia would not find a little school too taxing when in comes to funds. They gamble and attend ridiculous auctions every year. A school for children should be nothing to them."

"The Mafia doesn't want us building schools," Koran hisses at her. "They want assassins and guards."

"And not lawyers, doctors, engineers, or pilots," finishes the scarred man, Meinerth.

"What−the Mafia does not want smarter assassins?" Valtiel challenges everyone around her, including her grandfather Ryence. Their eyes meet, though her grandfather chooses to remain silent. She sneers at them. "Would they settle with illiterate and barbaric child soldiers? Who would die the moment they are sent to their first missions?"

They fall silent and the answer becomes clear to her. Her frown deepens. "They do, don't they? They do not want smarter soldiers because they need expendable people. No one to question their missions or their morals. Just soulless puppets, off to the battlefield." She slumps back on her chair, feeling tired and defeated. "I am a fool."

Chrollo touches her forearm, though his eyes are trained to the elderly men. He leans forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees.

"If you are worried about financing the school, the Phantom Troupe can shoulder all the costs, from the construction to the supplies and the maintenance." He glances at Valtiel and hides a smile as he sees her face slowly brighten. "And there would have to be the teachers and staff, we can provide for everything."

Elder Meinerth stiffens, knuckles gripping his chair tighter. "For sure, Lucilfer?"

"Of course. I can see the advantage of providing education for our children here in Meteor City," Chrollo explains. He leans back on his chair and slips his hand into Valtiel's, squeezing hers in reassurance. "It is about time we make developments in our city, not just for providing better homes and food."

"And if the Mafia disagrees?" Elder Koran prompts, glaring at the pair's holding hands.

"If the Mafia disagrees, they can answer to the Phantom Troupe." Chrollo smirks deviously. "I want to see how brave they could hold against us−if it ever crosses their minds at all. I quite remember that our relationship with the Mafia is _quite_ dear to them. It would be a shame if they destroy it for one school."

"They might," Koran says, "if they find out who is behind this idea."

"Miss Valtiel, you mean?" Chrollo looks at her, and then beams at Koran. "Oh, they wouldn't touch her."

"We would have to discuss the matter among ourselves for now." Ryence nods to the young pair, and they rise together from their seats. He could already hear the mumbles of disapproval from his fellow elders, but Ryence keeps a pleasant mask on until the two are out of sight and earshot.

On their way back to their room upstairs, Valtiel tugs at Chrollo's hand and stops walking.

"Did you really mean that?" she murmurs.

"Mean what?" He tips his head to the side.

"That the Phantom Troupe will take care of the costs?" As the words slip from her mouth, she still could not believe her luck. She is ready to share the expenses for the construction, despite not having a stable source on income. She never would have expected his help−nor would she ask him for it.

"Of course I mean it." He smiles and pushes her hair out of her face, away from her hopeful eyes.

They stand hidden in one of the church's alcoves, with a great statue of a forgotten saint the only witness to their closeness.

Chrollo traces a thumb under her eyes, across her cheek, down to her jaw. He lifts her chin up, raising her golden eyes to his. "And are you happy because of it?"

"I am," she says, breathless. Her voice shakes−whether for excitement or for nervousness in this close proximity she could not tell. She puts her hand above his own. "Thank you."

"I love your smile," he says. "I always watch you for your smiles."

She laughs and rolls her eyes, as if she is not convinced. He laughs along with her, and their quiet laughter resonates around the compact alcove.

"But why would you bring the Phantom Troupe to it? I am not one of the Spiders. They would be against it if the Troupe shoulders the costs."

He shrugs, stepping away from her to look up at the statue. It is a nun wrapped in her robes and coif. She bears no name, though he guesses he does not need to know her.

"They would understand," he says. "The Troupe does not focus solely on thefts and murders, you know. We can be philanthropists as well, for orphanages and hospitals and the homeless."

Unable to imagine the rambunctious Spiders helping the elderly or the homeless, she nods. It is indeed quite hard to imagine them, not when she has watched them massacre a whole theater of cultists and their audience. Harder still when she remembers how Uvogin could easily snap someone's neck, or Machi slicing everyone with only flick of her fingertips.

"When can we start?" she asks again, sounding excited.

"As soon as we can gather our funds." He takes her hand again and leads her back to their shared room.

"Would you tell the Troupe now?"

"I might." He produces his cellphone and chuckles to see Valtiel smiling and beaming at him again. He sits on the edge of their bed, phone pressed to one ear. His Kurta lays on her stomach across the bed, peeping up at him. The phone rings only once, and Chrollo feigns an energetic voice. "Shalnark?"

"Danchou!" Valtiel could hear Shalnark's equally excited voice from the other line.

She lets the leader and his Spider discuss about the situation, while she goes to her usual spot by the window to admire the view. Meteor City does not offer much scenery, but she still finds it refreshing and pleasing to the eyes. She has never seen so many strange-looking people gather so closely as family members. The children are everywhere and they are as energetic and as naughty as children could be. It brings another warm smile to her lips, remembering what little she could from her childhood.

Perhaps she could go downstairs and meet the children. Warren and Julia from yesterday never visited again. There are still so many out there playing and she could not wait to tell them that a school would be coming their way soon.

Chrollo finishes his call with Shalnark and fetches his book from the bedside table. "Shal would be disseminating the information to the others," he says, removing his bookmark and settling to a comfortable position against the headboard. "I asked him to start a fund-raising for an establishment."

She turns around to face him. "You did not mention a school?"

"Not for now, no. It would only prolong the conversation. I wish to finish my book. So please−" He shoots her an accusing glance−"Leave me in peace, Val."

"Fine, Danchou. Then can I go downstairs?"

"No, you cannot go where I cannot see you. Stay here. Read books with me."

"Your books are boring," she complains, trudging towards the bed and flopping herself horizontally, her face at Chrollo's shoulder while her feet dangle on the other side. "I don't want to read about politics and state affairs, old men trying to bomb each other's countries and all that."

"To each his own," he agrees pleasantly, and then wrinkles his nose in late disapproval. "Actually, they are _not_ boring, Valtiel. They are educative and you know what they always say: history repeats itself. We would do better to learn from our past, to be better prepared for the future."

"Ah, that's good, then. You can read your politics and social revolutions, while I read my epic fantasies and mysteries and foreign languages." She reaches over his chest and grabs a red hardbound book. It is one of the books Chrollo has stolen from that snowy village's library, the book written in Jørn's native tongue. Often she wonders what happened to him that night.

She glances at Chrollo's face, his eyebrows knitted as he reads. "You know, I was thinking… What if I translate this one?"

"I am sorry. What?" Engrossed in his book, he looks quite confused at her. "That one?"

"You never seem to read it." She flips the brittle pages, inhaling a familiar scent of old books.

"I believe it is a collection of ancient religious poems, written by poet and philosopher," he says. "I have always wanted to read it, but the words are too ancient for me and my basic understanding of the Norden language could only allow me to understand children's fairytales."

"Would you want me to translate?"

He smiles. "That sounds very sweet, thank you."

Setting to busy herself while he reads, Valtiel finds a stack of paper from the church's library and drops herself on the desk in their room. The book of poems has more than five hundred pages, with twenty-four poems. She glances at the clock−11:48 A.M. She has enough time to work until midnight, possibly with lunch breaks, and knowing Chrollo, coffee breaks in between. She can do this.

She bends over her desk and starts to work.

* * *

Four hours later, the silence shatters with quick footsteps aiming for their room.

With a sigh, Chrollo puts down his book and opens the door before the other person could knock.

Warren stumbles into the room and falls to his face. He growls as he rises on his hands and knees, blinking dark eyes to regain his vision. Beads of sooty sweat roll down from his forehead to the curve of his jaw. He pants and fights to even his breathing. He hears a hurried scratching of chair against the wooden floor, and before he knows it, he has the young woman kneeling and peering at his face.

"Are you all right?" Valtiel asks, guiding him to sit up. She checks his face for any signs of injuries and pats at his face and shoulders. "Are you hurt? Why are you running?"

"Julia−" Warren pants and grabs Valtiel's wrists. His dirty fingernails dig into her skin. Chrollo's eyebrows twitch at the filth. "She's missing."

"Missing? How come?"

"I don't know!" Angrily, he pushes her out of his face and forces himself to stand. He glares at Valtiel, and then plans to do the same to Chrollo, but the Phantom Troupe leader scowls at him. Warren scowls back, dark eyes blazing. "You brought the enemy here," he hisses at Chrollo. "You arrive yesterday, then Julia disappears. Someone must have followed you! Someone!"

"You are angry and confused," Chrollo says in his gentle voice. "You are worried about Julia, I understand that. However, to blame and treat us without proof is something I would not tolerate."

"Bastard!" Warren curls his fists, wanting to punch the older man, but growls instead. "I don't know what the Phantom Troupe is doing right now, who their enemies are, but someone out there has taken Julia! I _know_ because I already asked everyone, and everyone knows where everyone is!"

"Then there might be an outsider amongst us," Chrollo muses.

"Right." Warren sniffs and wipes his sweat off with his forearm. "Will you help me find her?"

A quiet knock comes from the door.

"Danchou−" Bonolenov stands at the threshold. "We have company downstairs."

"I will be right there. Take Warren with you when you go." Chrollo pushes the boy to Bonolenov and heads for the window. He narrows his eyes at the thick cloud of dust looming on the horizon.

Valtiel stands by his side. "Sandstorm?"

He shakes his head and darts for the door.

A huge crowd, thrice as large as yesterday, gathers in front of the church. Chrollo and Valtiel have to shoulder their way past the sneering onlookers, until they could join the seven Elders with Franklin and Bonolenov at the head of the crowd.

From afar, the dust continues to grow in size, higher and larger. To Valtiel, it looks like a great sandstorm headed their way. To the citizens of Meteor City, it is a threat−one they have to eliminate to protect themselves. She could see the foreboding looks in their faces, the way her grandfather Ryence glowers and the way his small hands clutch at his wooden staff. There is a group of young men surrounding him like bodyguards, their countenance focused and ready to attack.

Chrollo turns to Franklin. "What is this?"

"Some foolish outsiders most likely," the hulking Spider answers. "There's not much to see yet, but I can say there are quite several of them, and all of them Nen users. They do not bother hiding the malice in their aura. They must be a confident bunch. It's kinda impressive."

"We haven't had attacks lately," Bonolenov comments. "We could use some practice."

"No," Chrollo rules. "No games for now. Our priority is to deal with the current threat while ensuring the safety of the citizens. If they are confident enough to knock at our front gates, then they must mean bloodshed. Whatever they demand, we would not give them."

"Understood, Danchou," they say in unison.

"Lucilfer−" Ryence steps from the line and taps his staff on the ground. His brown eyes are glued to the incoming company, now close enough for him to see four custom-designed trucks with massive bodies and tires. He has never seen anything like it, and he wouldn't start fearing them now, not in his seventy-six years of living. He taps his staff again. "Come with me."

"To negotiate?" Chrollo's eyes gleam as he follows the lead Elder towards the entrance of the city.

The four trucks stop abruptly, few meters away from the entrance. Figures dressed in varying scarves and leathers appear on top of their trucks. Twenty-three of them, men and women, with black butterfly tattoos on various parts of their bodies, look down on the elder and the young man approaching them.

The group's leader understands the intention and drops down from his truck, a cloud of dust surrounding his muscular figure. "Afternoon, fellas."

Ryence nods. "What can we do for you, ladies and gentlemen?"

"Name's Zaire, of the Kiyobu Family." The leader is a hulk of a man, broad-shouldered and muscled. He has sharp cheekbones and heavy brows, and with a mop of thick black hair. His footsteps rumble as he closes the distance between himself and the pair. He grins at Chrollo. "And you are?"

"None of your business."

"Ah, the boyfriend," Zaire drawls, winking at his friends.

"I beg your pardon?" Chrollo blinks.

Zaire puts one large hand on Chrollo's shoulder and bends his knees to look at him in the eyes. What he meets is only a pair of dark eyes, too dark for him to see any hint of amusement behind them. He grins wider, very much reminding Chrollo of Uvogin, if only Uvogin dresses like a barbarian in leather belts and pants and spiky collars.

The hand on Chrollo's shoulder squeezes quite hard, the bones of his shoulder ready to shatter. Still, the young man never so much as flinches.

"Listen, I hate to break it to you, but we need something that is yours," Zaire whispers.

"I have nothing that might interest you."

"Are you sure?" Zaire straightens himself, his hand still on the shoulder, as he stares beyond Chrollo and Ryence−and finds a certain young woman with unmistakable platinum blonde hair and pale alabaster skin. Even at this distance, he sees her worried face. He chuckles. "I might have to take her."

Chrollo places his hand over Zaire's larger one. "Believe me: you don't want her."

Zaire squeezes harder and the bones shatter under his sheer strength. To his surprise and mirth, the young man does not seem bothered at the slightest. He shoves Chrollo away from him and shouts back to his comrades. "Bombs away, boys!"

Everyone tenses as one of the underlings surrounds himself in dark blue aura. The youth has blue hair and glazed black eyes, thirsty for blood and action. Seven crystalline orbs materialize from his hands. He throws them into the air and the orbs align in their position like constellations above Meteor City. Each orb glimmers, though they float idly in the air, as if waiting for more orders.

Zaire tightens his fist and aims to punch Chrollo−but the latter snatches the elder and pounces away from harm.

Instead, Zaire's fist comes in contact with another hulking man, larger than he is, with strange ear and lip piercings. Franklin breaks Zaire's fist in one hand and punches him on the face with the other. The Kiyobu leader flies across the field and lands on one of their trucks, smashing the front and engines.

Franklin jumps back to the group and puts some distance between him and the mobsters. He glances at Chrollo as he settles the elder with the others. "You okay, Danchou?"

"Danchou!" Valtiel rushes to Chrollo's side, reluctant to hold his shattered shoulder. An unbidden wince comes from her upon seeing how his left arm limps at his side. Blood has started swelling where the broken bones should be. "Oh no… Danchou, your−"

"Never mind that." Chrollo grunts and with his right hand, he pushes her towards the church. "Stay inside and do not go anywhere else. Franklin−" He turns to his friend−"You are our vanguard for now. Keep most of the fighting at the gates. Let no one slip from you. And if they manage to do so, Bono−" He turns again, gritting his teeth from the slight pain−"Take the misses. No one must approach that church."

"They want the lady, Danchou?" asks Bonolenov, adjusting his boxing gloves.

"They do," Chrollo confirms, standing his ground between his Spiders.

"We would not let them." Franklin takes his position at the very front and detaches his fingertips, hanging loosely with thin chains.

With a wicked grin, he fires Nen bullets at high speeds, obliterating the mobsters at their front doors. He cackles as some of them fall prey to his attacks, though most are prepared and seemingly capable Nen users, able to summon auras around the bodies to lessen the damage of the bullets.

Zaire lets out an ear-piercing whistle. Two of his men appear at his sides and rush straight to Franklin.

Franklin directs one hand at them, but the two enemies separate into two more, and then four and eight. He realizes that they could either be an Emitter, like him, or a Conjurer−able to recreate themselves. When the bullets pierce through the doppelgangers, he knows at once that this is an Emitter's ability.

More of Zaire's assassins evade Franklin's barrage of Nen bullets. They round Franklin's sides, hoping to outnumber his flanks and enter the city. To their surprise, the giant does not try to stop them as they go past streets and approach the church.

Then, blocking their pathway is Bonolenov.

"Attempting to take the lady is serious offense to the Phantom Troupe. Even the mere thought of it requires a hefty punishment. In the place of Danchou, I would be the one punishing you all." He transforms then, conjuring a feathered tribal armor and spear.

An assassin breaks off from the small group and attacks Bonolenov with aura transmuted into mist. It surrounds them in thick, gentle gusts. He nods to his companions and attempts to lose Bonolenov in the mist, but the Spider dances in the midst of it all, his bandages discarded to create a melodious tune from the holes of his body. Zaire's assassins brace themselves for an attack, but the tune hypnotizes and distorts their minds. Bonolenov, light and graceful on his feet, finishes them quietly in the mist.

Standing at the top of his truck, Zaire notices how many of his men have failed in their tasks. Growling low in his throat, he snaps his fingers to the blue-haired youth.

"Makali'i, time to draw out the lady. Activate the Sails and have four of them targeting her. The remaining three on that boyfriend and his pets."

The boy nods and looks up to where his orbs are. The ability requires a massive amount of aura, and to target four people at a time is already so taxing. Yet he does his duty and waits for the main target to emerge from her hiding place.

"Time to draw out the lady!" Zaire shouts for his remaining soldiers. His shattered fist from his previous encounter with Franklin is already useless. "Makali'i, stay out of those three's reach. They are the most dangerous; the boyfriend most especially."

"But he is wounded," Makali'i observes. "You broke the bones of his left shoulder."

"Then you are a fool, and a fool to even say it," Zaire snarls. "He is the strongest of them all."

More assassins stream into the city, recklessly falling prey to either Franklin's bullets or Bonolenov's graceful fighting techniques. By the time Franklin finishes his assault, more than fifteen bodies of Nen users are sprawled across Meteor City's lawn, their life's blood watering the dry patch of land.

Inside the church, hearing that the attacks have ceased, Warren jumps from his seat and aims for the door.

Valtiel grabs his hand. "Where are you going? Danchou said to stay here."

"Chrollo asked _you_ to stay here, not me." Warren snatches his hand and bursts out of the church. "They're the outsiders responsible for Julia's disappearance! I'm sure of it! If they won't tell me, then I'll have to ask them myself! Those bastards are responsible!"

"Wait!" She sighs exasperatedly and runs after him outside. "You can't go now!"

"Makali'i−" Zaire pats the blue-haired boy and points an index finger to the horizon. "The lady."

Suddenly, the crystalline orbs blaze into life. Like engines, they release a loud revving noise that catches the attention of the three Spiders on the field. Franklin and Bonolenov crane their necks to see what is happening, while Chrollo's eyes are on Zaire and Makali'i, studying and anticipating their movements. Their attentions are also on the orbs.

Chrollo wants to take advantage of their momentary distraction.

And so he does.

In one powerful kick, Chrollo pounces and crosses the hundred-foot distance between him and the enemies. His Bandit's Secret slowly materializes in his right hand. The two men have no idea what is coming towards them, until Zaire notices the barely concealed malice in Chrollo's aura and starts shouting "Activate it now! Activate it!"

Chrollo flips through the pages of his book and summons one of his favorite stolen abilities, at the same moment as Makali'i activates the orbs.

A large glass box encases Chrollo and his remaining enemies, just as a blue lightning attempts to hit the Troupe leader. The attack never hits him, shielded away by the same crystalline surface as the orbs. He dusts off his white shirt and approaches his enemies.

Outside the glass dimension, the lightning hits Franklin and Bonolenov−one bolt each−powerful enough to make them grunt in pain and fall of their knees. Valtiel, running after Warren, receives the brunt of the attack−four bolts of unbridled lightning to make her jerk and scream from the intense pain, her body seizing as her pale skin smokes and chars.

With Chrollo inside the glass cage, he could not hear her pained screams, but Franklin and Bonolenov do.

They scramble towards her in a panic, their hands suspended in midair, as if they are afraid to touch her, to bring more pain. Their eyes are wide with unspoken horror, their faces written with guilt. They failed to protect her as they had promised their Danchou. Now she lies unmoving on her side, too weak and hurt to speak. They are not even sure if she is still breathing.

Zaire holds up his hands for Chrollo to see. "Ah, the loyal boyfriend, indeed."

"There must be a misunderstanding," Chrollo answers kindly, lips spread into a little smile. "Whoever informed you that I am Valtiel's boyfriend must be mistaken. We are not−" He pauses, uncomprehending the concept itself. What is _this_? What is he talking about, anyway? He shakes his head. "Valtiel and I are not there yet."

"The prince would be glad then." Zaire chuckles.

"Is that the one who sent you? A prince?"

"If you're not her boyfriend, then this is not your business, pal," Zaire says.

"Whether or not you tell me, that is not my concern." Chrollo approaches them with his fluid grace, while his enemies flinch and look around the box. His pride swells. "Do you like it? It is called the House of Mirrors, a conjured dimension of crystals. Nothing we do inside would affect the outside world. You dispel bombs; Meteor City would be safe. Unless, of course, you are killed inside. You also die in real life. Now, I did not come here for revenge." His gaze falls upon Makali'i. "I want to know about your ability."

Makali'i bares white teeth at him. "Is this a trick?"

Chrollo smiles. His broken shoulder limps in an odd angle. "I am not fond of tricks or traps during battles. Rather, I am interested to learn about your ability. If you refuse to tell me, then I would have to be a little more persuasive."

"What do you mean?" Makali'i asks nervously.

"Zaire is your friend, right?" Chrollo hums. "Whose life do you treasure more: yours or his?"

"Don't tell him anything, Makali'i." Zaire attempts to tackle Chrollo, but the Spider head catches his fist and kicks him on the stomach. The strength forces him across the dimension, hitting the other end of the box. The crystalline wall gleams and recreates fractals behind the man's large body. Zaire falls limp to the floor, his head lolling like a drunken man.

"Shall I demonstrate more?" Chrollo turns back to Makali'i. "Or are you ready to tell me?"

"Don't−" Zaire grinds out, blood bubbling from his mouth.

Frowning, the Troupe leader grabs Zaire's broken fist and dislocates the joint connecting the hand to the wrist. Zaire's screams bounce off the ceiling of their impenetrable glass cage. The crunch of bones sounds music to Chrollo's ears−and horrifying to Makali'i.

Chrollo snatches Zaire by the nape and presses his thumb where the spine should be. The large man screams louder, feeling every inch of sharp pain lancing from his spine and down. Again, Makali'i blanches and cowers, like the young boy that he is.

As Chrollo opens his mouth, the boy interrupts him.

"I will tell you," Makali'i answers, shaking with fear. "I promise to tell you about my ability. Just please−"

"Don't worry. I promise to spare the both of you," Chrollo says.

Makali'i takes a deep breath and refuses to glance at Zaire's state. "I am a Transmuter, and my ability is called the Seven Sails. I conjure seven orbs that contain my aura transmuted into electricity. The orbs could only target seven people at a time, though I could change that depending on the target. The more orbs focused on one target, the more powerful the attacks are. They are not supposed to miss their targets but−" He nods to Chrollo's book−"Somehow your ability made it possible to evade."

"Interesting," Chrollo says. "And what does the electricity do? Did you include other properties into it?"

"I do," Makali'i replies with a sigh. "The electricity is laced with a fast-acting sleeping potion that slows heartbeats and respiratory functions. It is not too harmful, really. Its goal is merely to indispose the target. Nothing to be worried about, I _promise_ you."

Chrollo senses the increasing anxiety in the boy's voice, and lets it end here. "Good enough. One more thing. I need you to touch the book's cover please."

Makali'i obeys. Then he staggers, one hand clutching at the side of the truck. "Y-You said no tricks…"

"It is not a trick."

"I hope it's not, because you have a bigger problem now…"

"What do you mean?"

"The prince's lady?" Makali'i wheezes and falls on his knees. "She was hit by _four_ lightning bolts."

Slowly, as if in a dreamy state, the glass dimension shatters around them in a thousand pieces.

* * *

"WHERE IS SHE?!"

A harsh voice demands as Chrollo appears inside the church. His mangled shoulder and arm sway as he walks in large, quick strides, sidestepping anyone who comes in his way. His dark eyes are darker than their usual grey−almost black now in his terrible temper. The elders stand no chance as the leader of the Phantom Troupe pushes his way through the crowd, uncaring if he bumps onto someone. He reaches the church's infirmary, where more people have gathered outside the door, Warren included among them.

The boy actually looks guilty, and for all his ferocity and snarls, he now gives Chrollo an apologetic look.

Glowering, Chrollo enters the room and is blocked by his two Spiders. He frowns. "Move it."

"Danchou−" Franklin begins, his voice tender and soothing and everything else to calm the brewing storm inside their leader. It must have been _ages_ since he last saw the Danchou this furious. "Now, I need you to listen to me this one time, Danchou. Valtiel? She's all right now. Her condition is stable−"

"I _said_ −" Chrollo draws himself to his tallest height and glares at Franklin−"Move it."

"Y-Yes, Danchou." Defeated, both Franklin and Bonolenov step aside.

Chrollo passes them by and turns around a corner, towards the farthest space of the spacious infirmary. One of the elderly female doctors attends to his Kurta. She shakes her head at him and lets him come closer. He parts the white curtains and looks down to the bed. He swallows hard at the sight of her.

Her alabaster skin is dark with burned flesh and blisters, mostly on the shoulder and arms. The dress she wears today is discarded to the side, burned and tattered like rags. She breathes faintly, as she does in her sleep. To his relief, she does not seem to be in pain, though he could only imagine the pain of the blisters on her skin. It is from a Nen lightning; he should not worry so much. Real world lightning and Nen lightning are two different things.

Bonolenov stands at the foot of the bed. "Forgive us for failing you, Danchou," he murmurs.

Chrollo sinks into the nearest chair, too exhausted to think properly. With his good hand, he reaches underneath the blanket and takes her hand. It is undamaged, but cold. He kisses her fingertips.

"It was not your fault," he whispers. "Do not blame yourselves."

"She's not only injured, Danchou," Franklin drawls, choosing his words as carefully as he could.

"Which means?" Chrollo prompts, eyebrows furrowed at his Spider.

As if on cue, he could feel unusual warmth emanating from Valtiel's body. His eyes widen as he notices a smooth flow of aura radiating from her−warm and soothing as steam. Then he remembers that she was hit by a transmuted lightning, and by all means, a transmuted lightning is still made from pure aura. He could not believe his eyes; he did not foresee this turn of events.

Bonolenov nods to the body. "Her aura nodes have been opened from the attack," he explains. "The lightning was powerful enough to kill an ordinary person and she should have died, but since her aura started leaking and enveloping her body, it prevented her from succumbing to her injuries."

"She is using Ten in her sleep," Chrollo observes, shocked yet somehow impressed.

"That alone is enough to let her heal," Franklin agrees. "She's healing herself unconsciously."

"Val has potential," Bono adds.

"As it turns out, yes." Chrollo runs a hand across her forehead. It feels feverish under his touch, and he knows it is the product of her Ten. He smiles, tired and spent and still suffering from a mangled shoulder, now bleeding internally.

Then he chuckles deep in his throat, confusing his Spiders. "Send for Machi," he says. "My shoulder is in dire need of fixing."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I feel like there's a manhunt for me now considering how I've been missing-in-action for almost a month now. I'm very sorry for the long wait. The last three or so chapters, I've been editing it only in my smartphone. This time around, I worked hard and waited long enough until I could buy myself a laptop for my writing. And lo and behold! I have a laptop now and expect a regular update in my stories! Thanks for understanding, friends!

It's official! Val's now a Nen user! What could her Nen type and ability be? Any guesses? Suggestions? 😈

* **Amy** \- Omg, thanks for the triple reviews!Warren and Julia: the young orphaned versions of Chrollo and Val. Your review did make me wonder. What could have been if Val had lived with them in Meteor City? How could have they turned out if she grew up with them? A part of me thinks Val would retain her personality, but in an environment like MC, she might have turned slightly evil... or at least with malice. And Chrollo being Chrollo... just the simple man, it might be the very small part in him that is human, that actually cares for Valtiel's well-being. And your guess almost hit the mark! It was one of the prince's associates, nothing more. Thanks so much for your support, for all the lovely reviews! Sorry if the update took so long!

* **Milady13** \- Yes. Sadly, she hasn't noticed that no one remembers her. It could be that she was excited and nervous at the same time that she didn't have time to notice? It's sad, really. She's still a lost puppy in Meteor City.

* **xenocanaan** \- Thank you! Hope you enjoy this one!

* **HuangShaotian0005** \- I do hope you're psychic, man. That'd be awesome! Whoever slips that Val isn't really from MC, they'd be dead meat. Be it Chrollo, Franklin, or Phinks who could Ripper Cyclotron the poor soul out of his misery. Haha!

* **Mia Mena** \- Oops! No kissing yet! But they're getting there! And your guess was on point! You do remember the past chapters and the little hints I throw here and there. Good job! *high five*

* **Dontcha** \- If only Chrollo understands that normal "friends" can't sleep in the same room, in the same bed! This handsome man needs to understand boundaries and whatnot! But hey! Val's not complaining either! And thanks for the double review!

* **Oops** \- Good catch there! Chrollo stopped shoving the "You're a Spider" mantra down her throat once she started becoming more independent. She's not the same blank-minded Kurta that he saved from the cave. After three months, she travelled and saw the world. She already knows how gruesome the world and the Troupe works. And she knows she's not one them. Chrollo knows he can't brainwash her as much anymore. Hope this helps!

* **ChroVal** \- Kissing is prohibited. XD That can wait until much later... probably.

* **Eric** \- Don't worry! I have no plans abandoning this story! I'll work on it no matter how much life can be such a difficulty.

Thank you all so much for your patience in reading this story! I am forever grateful to all those who are giving me a chance to publish this story and share my passion as an amateur writer! I cannot thank you guys enough!


	18. Chapter XVIII

**Chapter XVIII**

* * *

In the coldness of the night, three orphan children ran for their lives.

Two young boys, dark-haired and scrawny, dressed in all black to better blend in the shadows. One a young girl, blonde and fair, with bottle-green eyes and quick feet. They ran underneath the heavy downpour of the rain. In their hands, food−sacks of extra rations, bread, and grains. Water clouded their vision as they ran in one file, keeping half of their attention to the bodyguards rummaging the city.

A Mafia don arrived earlier that evening to negotiate with Elder Ryence. There had been a breach of contract and a misunderstanding between Meteor City and the Mafia community that forced the Ten Mafia Dons to send some of them. They brought food and clothes for the citizens, a sign of their peaceful intentions, but the citizens needed more food and clothes. The children always needed more.

The three orphans ducked under awnings and hid behind piles of garbage. They ran as fast as their little feet could. At the end of the street was their exit−a hole in a truck's wall.

"Everyone all right?" Chrollo asked his friends, both panting behind him.

"We have to hurry." Feitan's damp hair fell across dark eyes. "If we're found out−"

"I know what happens if we're found out," Rhanion snapped at the both of them. She hoisted a grain sack over her shoulder. "So maybe we should be quiet _and_ quick. We don't have it all night."

They stopped arguing and glanced at a corner. A pair of bodyguards was making rounds in the area. Chrollo motioned for his friends to wait, and when the guards were out of sight, he nodded back to them. Together they dashed across the damp field and prepared to enter through the hole, almost at their shoulder-level.

Feitan and Chrollo dropped their sacks and helped Rhanion enter. Then followed the rations and bread.

"You're next," Chrollo told Feitan, preparing to give him a boost.

"No," Feitan growled.

"Go with Rhanion! Now!"

They heard quick footsteps and Chrollo immediately clutched Feitan around the waist and shoved him into the exit. Rhanion's hands made quick work pulling him inside, settling him beside her. They fell quiet as the pair of bodyguards returned and found Chrollo standing by the truck, hands behind his back like a boy caught red-handed.

One guard snarled at him. "What are you doing? Don't move!"

The second one grabbed him by his dark hair and slammed the side of his face on the truck's wall. The metallic clang echoed around, and Feitan almost lunged himself out again if not for Rhanion's hand on his.

"Smuggling out food, eh?" The second guard forced Chrollo's face against the wall.

"Where are your friends? We saw someone with you," growled the first.

"It's just me…" Chrollo answered through gritted teeth.

"Liar!" The second guard slammed the end of his gun to the boy's face, and Chrollo fell to the damp earth, clutching his bleeding mouth. The guard crouched and pointed the barrel to the boy's ear. "Answer us, punk. You wanna die in the rain, kid? Leave your body out here to rot?"

"I told you," Chrollo hissed, the blood bubbling in his mouth. "I am alone…"

The interrogation was cut short when an imposing scarred man walked towards them. He had a large group of bodyguards surrounding and carrying black umbrellas for him. A black car's headlights were shining down on the exchange. It blinded Chrollo for a moment, before the figures stood before him and blocked the light. They looked down on him as if he was trash, a nobody who could die without someone feeling remorse.

The Mafia Don raised an eyebrow at the bodyguards. "What is happening here?"

"Caught this boy smuggling out food with his friends, Lord Viper," the first guard answered.

"He won't tell us where his friends are," said the second one.

"What's your name, boy?" Lord Viper turned black eyes on him.

Chrollo glared at them and said nothing.

Lord Viper took a step closer to inspect the boy's disheveled hair and tattered black shirt. He offered a hand to him, and Chrollo warily accepted. "Were you indeed stealing food from the Mafia?"

Again, no answer.

"If you tell me your name," Lord Viper said as he gestured a hand to his men, "I will let you and your friends go with the food you have taken. No tricks or traps, whatsoever. Just tell me your name, and then go home to your parents, if you still have them. This is bad weather for a child like you."

"My name is Chrollo," he answered after a while. He kept his teeth from chattering in the cold, as he was subjected under closer stares of men in black suits and guns. "I stole the food on my own. I came to the tent alone and grabbed what I can."

"Quick and smart," the don said, amused. "Tell me, Chrollo: do you like living here?"

"I am exactly where I should be," young Chrollo said.

Another bodyguard came up to them and whispered to the Mafia Don.

Lord Viper nodded and smiled at the boy. "It seemed we found your friends," he said as four more bodyguards rounded from behind the truck and dragged Feitan and Rhanion out with them. "They were on their way back to the church, to seek refuge I presume, but were caught en route." He clicked his tongue, as if disappointed to see young children stealing under his nose. "Shame you lied for their sake, boy."

Chrollo's eyes were wide with fear.

Two guards held Feitan by the neck and forced him on his knees. Another one had his hand weaved through Rhanion's rich blonde hair and kicked her to the earth, forcing her face first onto the mud next to Feitan. Feitan snarled like a trapped animal and struggled against his guard, but the man pointed a gun at the back of his head.

The Mafia Don produced his own gun and pointed it at Chrollo. "Your life or theirs?"

Without second thoughts, he blurted, "Mine."

Viper's lips spread into a wide, amused smile. Slowly, his outstretched arm turned into a semi-circle and pointed at Rhanion. He cocked the gun as he crossed the distance and pressed the barrel on her forehead. He turned back again to Chrollo. "Your life or theirs?"

Feitan's angry voice snapped. "How about _your_ life, asshole!"

"M-Mine." Chrollo's voice started to shake. Under the rain, the tears and the water mingled. His eyes were only on Rhanion's face, mirroring the same nervous, horrified expression. "My life," he repeated, desperate and scared. "Please. I am sorry. Take me, my life−"

"Wrong answer." Viper turned back to Rhanion−

"No, no, _please_ , don't−"

−and fired his gun.

It happened both so fast and slow that Chrollo could not believe his eyes.

Fast, because it only took less than a second for the bullet to go through Rhanion's skull.

Slow, because despite the distance, he could see the fragments of her skull and the pallid grey matter of her brain, streaked with pale blood, burst from her head. The gooey mixture of brain, flesh, and tufts of blonde hair stained Viper's polished shoes. A large part of her cranium, still cradling some brain matter, was crushed under Viper's boot.

Chrollo did not remember what happened next. All he could remember was the broken fingers Feitan received as punishment and the broken lip Chrollo suffered from the gun.

It was a lifetime much better than Rhanion's fate.

* * *

"Danchou?" A quiet, sleepy voice calls out to him.

As Chrollo opens his eyes, he realizes that he has been dreaming. Something hot and damp rolls down his cheeks. In the darkness of the infirmary, with him seated on a chair, he covers his face with a hand and wipes his tears away. He manages to choke back a sob, against the idea of him crying for something sentimental in the shadows. How strange for him to dream that particular nightmare. He thought he suppressed that nightmare over the years. Feitan surely had.

He composes himself and grunts, his left shoulder still mangled and numb. It hangs loosely on his side, too useless for anything as of the moment. Then he prepares a smile and rounds towards the bed. His breath hitches in his throat then, too shocked to think of anything else−not even the nightmare−but her.

Valtiel sits up on the bed, wearing a loose white robe that slips over one shoulder. Her hair is naturally a thick mess over her back. But Chrollo does not see her: he sees her eyes, only her eyes. In the darkness of the room with only the silver moonlight spilling through a small round window, he sees only her eyes.

Scarlet Eyes.

For the first time since the Kurta massacre.

Vivid and mesmerizing under the moonlight.

Wide, round, and enticing.

When Valtiel closes her eyes and yawns, she looks back at him with slightly glassy eyes, the scarlet dancing and overwhelming the golden of her irises. The color is bright and full of hope, of promises and secret pleasures. When she tips her head to the side, the moonlight catches her left eye, glinting the reddish glow more than the right eye.

"Danchou?" she tries again, her voice soft and tired.

"Ah−yes." He clears his throat and leans forward on his chair. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel strange," she sighs. "And a little feverish. How long have I been sleeping?"

"Two days. Healer Atara told me you might recover sooner than expected."

"Why is that?" She tips her head to the other side, and now the moonlight catches her right eye while the left is in the dark. She blinks and wonders why the Danchou keeps staring at her like a predator ready to seize a prey. She shifts under the blanket. "Danchou?"

"Hm?" Chrollo pauses to think for a while. He could think of a hundred reasons why he's staring at her. But explaining the circumstances of her learning Nen at the wee hours in the morning is certainly not one of them. "We can ask Healer Atara later if you want."

She nods, too tired to press the issue. Her concern lands on his shoulder and she jerks on the bed, crawling on all fours to get to him. Reluctant fingers touch where his shoulder meets neck. The flesh there is hard and swollen, and it makes her wonder how he could endure such an injury for two days.

He shakes his head. "It's fine. I'm waiting for Machi to arrive and fix it."

At once, her face brightens. Her eyes dance redder and more beautiful. "She's coming here?"

"Yes, along with some others."

"Who?"

"You can find out in the morning when they come."

Valtiel keeps observing his appearance, until her brows furrow. Once more, she reaches out to cup his cheek. Strangely, she feels something damp. Using her thumb, she wipes away the rest of his tears as her gaze searches for his eyes, only to find them melancholy. "What's wrong, Danchou?"

He chuckles and paws at his eyes. "I had a dream, that's all," he says evasively. He starts fussing over her pillows and blankets, avoiding her Scarlet Eyes. "You should go back to rest. It is still too early for you."

She yawns in agreement. As she slips back under the covers, she tugs at his good hand and pulls him towards her, to the bed. "Sleeping on a chair is uncomfortable. Stay with me," she mumbles.

"Is this an order?"

"Think whatever you like. I'm sleepy."

Chuckling, Chrollo eases himself into the bed, careful not to put pressure on his wounds. He sighs as his body falls on the mattress, having suffered sitting on that chair for two days since the attack happened. Valtiel pulls the blanket on both of them while Chrollo's right arm snakes around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. She nestles close to him, her head on his good shoulder, while his nose is on her hair.

Holding her like this, he feels the warmth of the aura that is shrouding her body. It almost feels laying beside a human heater that he keeps smelling her hair until he shifts again.

"Look at me, Val."

She does, raising sleepy eyes to his smiling face. She gives him a rather questioning look.

"You have beautiful eyes," he whispers. "The most beautiful color I have ever seen."

"You're making me blush," she chides teasingly.

"Oh, really? I would love to see you blush. Perchance I should compliment you more often?"

"It won't work." She rolls her eyes at him, and he laughs deep in his chest.

"Maybe." His gaze lingers on her eyes, on her face, on her pale lips curled into a playful smirk. He could tell that she is fighting sleep only to entertain him−or perhaps distract him from his previous nightmare−that she is willing to stay up longer for his pillow talks. But Chrollo knows better; he knows that he has to sacrifice what little amount of time he has of the Scarlet Eyes, before letting them go.

He shifts once more, pulling her closer to his chest. "Let's go to sleep."

She buries her nose on the fabric of his white shirt. He smells like coffee as he always does. "Good night."

"Good night, Val," he murmurs against her hair and closes his eyes.

It has been a long time since Chrollo dreamed of something. Tonight, instead of rain and blood, he wishes to dream of Scarlet Eyes−and the horrified screams of the Kurta Clan as they died one rainy night.

* * *

Franklin and Bonolenov are waiting by the city entrance when Machi's group arrives.

Machi leads her group, which consists of Kortopi, Uvogin and Shalnark. The other Spider members are too far across continents already when their leader asked them to come home. Apart from Machi, the three other Spiders are the only ones available and decided to tag along with her to hear the news.

At the city entrance, the Troupe members exchange a few bits of information of what happened, before Elder Meinerth comes along to deliver the group to the church's infirmary.

Inside, the group pauses, rather unprepared to see their Danchou sharing a bed with the Kurta girl.

"I need to capture this," Shalnark mumbles as he hurriedly reaches for his phone. Then, with a quick flash, the photo shows up in the screen of his cellphone and shows it to Uvogin. They both snigger like children.

"He looks so cute when he sleeps, doesn't he?" Uvogin coos.

"I am not sleeping." Suddenly, Chrollo rises from the bed with his black hair tousled and jutting in every directions possible. The bags under his eyes look darker and sharper, and his pale face shows that he is nowhere the range of amused. "And I am not cute."

Uvogin scratches the back of his head, sheepish. "Cute? Who said _anything_ about cute? I-I meant the little kiddo! Val looks cute in her sleep." He nudges Shalnark with an elbow. "R-Right, Shal?"

Shalnark shrugs his shoulder. "I don't know, Uvo. I did hear something about Danchou being cute−"

His dark eyes on Shalnark, Chrollo feels the familiar guilt tugging at his heart. He falls silent even as Shalnark and Uvogin tease each other. All he could hear is himself pleading for his friend's life, pleading for Lord Viper to take his own. It happened almost ten years ago, but the pain and the guilt still feel so fresh that he could not bear to look at Shalnark without remembering Rhanion's same blonde hair and cheerful green eyes.

"Enough," Machi snaps, glaring bright blue eyes at them. She folds her arms over her chest. "This is an infirmary and injured people are resting. If you're going to brawl, do it outside."

"Yeah." Kortopi bobs his head and points to the bed. "You woke her up."

Valtiel rises from behind Chrollo and rubs her eyes. Instead of the livid scarlet earlier that morning, the golden of her eyes have returned, teary as she yawns and blinks at the sudden new faces. She stares at them as if discerning who they are, but when her mind finally registers them as the Spiders, she leaps on the mattress like an excited child, with Chrollo bouncing along with her.

"Machi-san!" She beams at the pink-haired woman, and then smiles wider. "And everyone else!"

"Morning, Val," Kortopi greets.

"Good to see you again!" Shalnark beams back at her.

"How are ya, little kiddo?" Uvogin sits on his haunches beside the bed, and pats her head and pinches her cheeks. He grins as her cheeks turn red from his constant pulling, and only stops when he receives a scolding smack on the arm from Machi.

"We heard about what happened," Machi interrupts, speaking to both their leader and the Kurta. Her eyes linger on their leader's shoulder. "Shall I stitch it up now, Danchou?"

"Oh, wait−" Uvogin tugs at the dark purple sash around Machi's waist and points at Valtiel. "Can you see that? Is that what I think it is? Is it even possible?"

Kortopi nods thoughtfully. "I see it. Not half-bad."

Shalnark turns to their leader. "Since when?"

"When we were attacked," Chrollo says. He stands from the bed and looks at the white aura steaming from Valtiel's entire body. She could see it as well as everyone else. "A transmuted lightning. It was not entirely hostile, but the malice was still there. Made her unconscious for two days but her aura nodes open. She has been using Ten since then."

"Since what?" Valtiel blinks at them. She raises her hands to her face and notices the thin white veil that shrouds her body. Every inch where she looks, it is there. She shoots them a confused look. "What is this?"

"That is your aura, your life force," Chrollo explains, accepting the inevitable. "That is Nen."

"This?" She gestures with her hands and admires the flow of aura that follows.

"And what you're doing right now is Ten," Shalnark adds, smiling at her achievement. "We were told you suffered an attack that would have killed an ordinary person; but since your aura was already leaking by that time, it saved you from receiving further damage. You saved yourself."

"Oh," she murmurs, unable what to think about it.

"Also, you can use Ten for defensive purposes in a fight," Kortopi adds.

"Oh."

Shalnark and Kortopi blink at her. "Oh?"

Valtiel tears her attention away from the aura and asks, "Does that mean I can summon carnivorous fish to fight, too? Or I can now turn my body into iron?"

Chrollo shakes his head. "That is far too advanced for you," he says. "For now, keep using Ten and maintain it for at least another hour. Then you would have to learn something else to stop the aura from completely leaking−"

He clamps his mouth shut then, sensing the excitement in the air. More explanation means pouring more oil into the fire. "Stay here as you are. Machi and Shalnark, you come with me upstairs."

"Sure, Danchou. What about Uvo and Kortopi?" Shal asks.

"We'll stay with little kiddo here," Uvogin says. "Teach her more about Nen and stuff."

"Only Ten," Chrollo reiterates. "No more, no less."

"Gotcha!" Uvogin winks as the three leave the infirmary.

Chrollo leads his Spiders to the bedroom, left untouched for two days straight when he refused to leave her side. He has not changed clothes or been into the shower since then. He is aware that he must be nothing but filthy and unsightly by now, but neither Machi nor Shalnark seem to care. He sits on the edge of the bed as Machi sits in front of him, preparing her needles.

With a low grunt, he removes his white shirt. Machi's careful fingers trace the curve of the swelling, feeling for the pressure points and the blood and flesh in between.

"I will have to make an incision in your shoulder, Danchou," she says as a warning. "I need to create a pressure and release the swelling blood, and then prevent more blood flow by sealing the open wound."

"Of course." He nods. "Whatever you think is best."

"May I ask something, Danchou?" She takes out a special needle and surrounds herself with aura. "Why did you wait for two days to have something as severe as this to be treated? It's very dangerous, even if you can endure the pain. I thought Healer Atara is capable."

"She is," he confirms, "but she specializes in herbal balms and healing oils. She helped treating the blisters on Valtiel's skin, but she is helpless in surgery. I would rather wait for you than settle on anything less. You are the best surgeon I know."

"Then I will start cutting the skin first," she says, retrieving a blade. "Please remove your aura."

While Machi cuts deep and long over the swelling skin, Chrollo ignores the sharp pain and turns his attention to Shalnark. "Shal, I need you to search something for me. Something about a Kiyobu Family."

"Let me see what I can find, Danchou." Shalnark bends over the wooden desk and notices a thick manuscript of poems. He puts it aside and starts typing away in his laptop. "You know the only thing I hate the most about Meteor City is the sole fact that Wi-Fi is practically nonexistent here." He lets out a whine as he complains. "We should really do something about internet connection here, Danchou. Something for the kids to enjoy−social media websites, video-sharing-websites, stuff like those..."

Then he pulls something from his pocket and happily shows it to them. "But look! I stole this pocket Wi-Fi from biggest telecommunications company in the last country I've been! Pretty decent, huh?"

Chrollo smiles in agreement. "Yes, it is."

Machi grumbles under her breath. "He's been nagging about that thing since we got on the airship."

"−This one is the latest they have," Shalnark continues in his monologue, "and the fastest one there is!"

"See? I told you," Machi grumbles again and Chrollo chuckles.

"And see this port right here? You can also charge your electronic device here. It is also solar-powered, so there is no need to worry about−"

"Shal," Chrollo interrupts, his voice gentle yet firm. "I asked you to search about the Kiyobu Family?"

"Oh, yes, right, of course!" Shalnark laughs aloud at his own monologue and continues with his task. With his Hunter License, it only takes him a moment to find what he is searching for. "Kiyobu Family, right? The one with a black butterfly symbol on it?"

"Yes, that one." Chrollo stiffens as Machi puts pressure on the gaping wound, hoping to relieve the swelling that has been for days. He grits his teeth as blood pours into a small bucket on the floor. "I want to hear everything about them."

"For one thing, they are not a really big organization," Shalnark says. "The Kiyobu Family works for the underworld of the Kakin Empire."

Chrollo's jaw tightens and Machi feels the weight of his quiet fury.

"Since they are not too big, only with twenty-three members, there is not much information the Hunter Website can give us. They are at the very bottom of Kakin's underworld, too insignificant and without that much influence−for that I am sure. It is like a predator at the very bottom of the food chain." Shalnark swivels on his chair and turns to them. "So these guys attacked us the other day? They have guts."

"Do you have any information of their base of operations?"

"Umm, nope, but I can hack to a server and find out if they made transactions in minor businesses," Shal explains as he types again, eyes glued to the screen. "Credit cards, convenience stores, hospitals−that sort of thing. But I would need a name or two to lessen the range."

"Try Zaire or Makali'i."

"Strange names, but okay."

Machi finishes relieving the pressure and proceeds to sew Chrollo's severed flesh and skin back together in mere seconds. She pulls the threads together and makes a fine cut over his skin. "There," she says, satisfied by how their leader's arm looks good. "The threads could only do much, so I suggest that you don't overwork yourself, especially that arm. If you need to do anything physical, you can ask any of us."

"Thank you. I feel better now." Chrollo pats Machi's forearm with his left hand and stands up. He winds his arm to test its flexibility. To his relief, he could feel no extreme pain, but a sting still lingers inside.

"Here. I found someone named Zaire in a department store," Shalnark announces. Both Chrollo and Machi take his side, bending over his shoulders. He clicks on a picture and it shows the same hulking man with dark hair and thick brows.

"This was in Larkinge City one week ago. And the second name," he continues, switching to a new window, "Makali'i is more of a spender. He spent half a hundred million for clothes and shoes. This was in Caister City. Now the thing is−both Larkinge and Caister are on the same country in Yorbia. Which means−while it is obvious that they have a base of operations in Kakin in the eastern continent, they also have a base of operations in Yorbia in the west."

"They are not very discreet people, are they?" Machi muses, glaring at the sight of a youth with ridiculous blue hair and leather jacket. "This one looks rather young."

"Some of them are," Chrollo agrees.

"So why did they even attack us? Bono says they wanted Val."

"I believe they do. Valtiel had an encounter with one of the Kakin princes during our transactions for the Scarlet Eyes," Chrollo says. The very memory of it annoys him. "The prince learned of her Scarlet Eyes and promised to bring her back to Kakin with him. Now he is honoring his promise."

"Are we going to hunt them down, Danchou?" Machi asks.

Chrollo shakes his head. "No need for that. They are not much of a threat," he says, confident in his abilities and in his friends. "Though I might have to do something if they persist."

Machi goes to the window and stares boredly at the horizon. "Like that?"

The two Spiders flank her sides as the familiar sight of something big and heavy, thus creating a sandstorm, approaches Meteor City. At the city's entrance, they could see Franklin and Bonolenov preparing for another round of battle. Chrollo sighs in relief. This time, they are better prepared.

They all proceed downstairs to the infirmary. At the room's threshold, they recoil at the sight of Valtiel surrounded by multitudes pink paper cranes. Kortopi makes more copies and throws them into the air. Uvogin, seated cross-legged on the marble floor, releases short bursts of aura at the cranes, making them appear as if flying and gliding. Amidst of it all, Valtiel laughs and admires the paper cranes with wonder.

Chrollo is unfazed. "I thought I asked you to teach her Ten," he says.

"We did, but Ten is boring," Uvogin whines. "So we breezed through Ten, Zetsu, and−" He ticks them off his fingers but pauses and turns to Kortopi−"What's the other one again?"

"Ren," Kortopi answers and looks at their leader. "And we explained a bit of Hatsu, but focused on Gyo."

"Yeah, and since I can't demonstrate my Hatsu indoors, we thought we could show Kortopi's, so ta-da! Home-made paper cranes!" Uvogin grins from ear-to-ear, childlike and enthusiastic. "And you know what's the _awesomest_ thing we did? My own version of the Water Divination! Hey, Danchou, did you know that she's a−"

"Enough of that," Chrollo scolds Uvogin, not only for his disobedience, but also for his irresponsibility. He wants to take the reins of her Nen lessons and teach her nice and slow−but no, Uvogin has to be all enthusiastic and breeze through the four major principles in less than an hour.

He sighs and caresses the numb pain ebbing in his temple. "We can worry about that later. Right now, there's another group headed out way. It must be one of those groups of mobsters again."

"OH!" Uvogin jumps to his feet, all fired up. "My time to shine! Hey, kiddo, you wanna see my Hatsu?"

"Of course," Valtiel answers in an instant. "I would love to−"

"No, you will _not_ ," Chrollo rules, standing on a firm ground and watching both Uvogin and Valtiel deflate at his disapproval. Times like these he does not feel like the leader of the Phantom Troupe, but a parent with twelve rambunctious children and one pet puppy.

Shalnark laughs at the exchange. "Uvo! Why don't you join Franklin and Bono outside?"

Chrollo nods. "You and Franklin are our first line of defense. Let no one inside the city. Machi, take Bono with you and watch out for the misses. Shalnark and Kortopi will guard the entrance to the church." He allows himself a small devious smirk. "Make show for the enemies. Machi, tie the mutilated corpses across the entrance. That should give the next group a fair warning."

"We're on it, Danchou." The four Spiders rush outside the room.

Valtiel watches the paper cranes fall limp on the floor without Uvogin's aura boosting them. She folds her hands in her lap as Chrollo sits on the bed's edge, giving her a soft yet tired expression. She then notices the good condition of his arm and sighs in relief.

"Are you angry with me?" she mutters.

His face contorts into one of confused. "Angry? Why?"

She shrugs. "You sounded angry when Uvo-san told you about them teaching me about Nen."

"No, I was far from angry." He settles himself against the headboard and stretches his legs. His gaze lingers on her face as he decides on his next words. Sure enough, Uvogin spoiled the chances of her learning Nen properly, but that does not mean Chrollo could not make amends. "What did you learn from them?"

"Only the basics," she says. "We practiced Ten like you said, but Uvo-san got impatient and started lecturing about the other principles. Then he fetched a glass with water, and we found out that I'm−"

"You have more to focus than the outcome of your Water Divination. Instead, you should concern yourself with mastering Ten, shrouding your body with aura for hours, without feeling taxed. It should defend you from any sort of Nen attacks at the least."

"Ten, of course." She nods and closes her eyes as she concentrates on the warmth that envelops her. It makes her feel a bit feverish, yet the longer she concentrates on the feeling, the more she feels more comfortable. Instead of a fever, she feels bathed in sunlight.

Chrollo studies the steady flow of her aura, like sand inside an hourglass. Already he starts thinking of the ways he could tap into her potential as a Nen user, the training exercises he could do to ensure she would learn the quickest and most effective way possible. There are so many possibilities, deciding on the nature of training and challenges, when and where they could begin−and that is all just the basic principles. His skin crawls at the thought of her Water Divination, learning her category, and inventing an ability that suits her−and suits his purposes.

There is a sudden explosion outside. The entire church rattles and Valtiel becomes distracted from her concentration. The aura leaks from her body and aims upwards, like smoke.

Watching her distracted like this, Chrollo ponders if Meteor City is a safe place at all. He could not keep her here while a prince sends his mobsters to assault them. Teaching and protecting her at the same time would be extremely tedious. More than that, he could not keep bothering his Spiders to defend the city for them. To keep Valtiel in Meteor City is a risk he would not take.

Another explosion follows. Valtiel gives him a worried look, but he smiles and says, "It's nothing."

As it sometimes happens, his lies go over her head. He knows that look when she is unconvinced. Either she would roll her eyes or wrinkle her nose. This time, she wrinkles her nose at his lie. He laughs.

When Uvogin and the others return half an hour later, they are all drenched in blood. Uvogin has torn flesh caught in the brown fur of his bearskin clothes. Franklin has a splatter of blood and guts across his torso; while Machi's pink leg warmers are dark with dried red blood. Even Bono's white bandages, despite his known grace in battle, are slashed with red.

Their unruly appearances, paired with the fact that Chrollo and Valtiel have not touched a shower in two days, makes Shalnark grab his phone and capture a group photo of them. He and Kortopi laugh at the tired, forlorn faces in the picture.

"Damn, guys." Shalnark snickers at everyone. "You need to bathe so badly."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Thus, I return with a regular update! Whee! I should pat myself on the back for being on time. Haha! And Happy International Women's Day to all of us hardworking women!

Finally, finally, finally... Chrollo has his Scarlet Eyes now! This dude has been waiting for this to happen since Day 1! Now that he has gotten what he's originally aimed for, he won't throw Valtiel away. Some people just have that mentality. They have what they want, then they're no longer interested. Is it even possible for him to leave her now that he's satisfied with her?

We have half of the Spiders back together again. It feels so long since their last appearance. Which are the lucky ones to train Val in Nen, however? Uvo got all excited about knowing her Nen type and that she's a−

And what do you guys think of the little flashback at the beginning? Any wild guesses, allusions, foreshadowing?

* **xenocanaan** \- Oh, no! I'm sorry to hear you don't feel well! Hope you're doing better now!

* **HuangShaotian0005** \- "Whoever dare to hurt Val will have to answer to Chrollo." That already sounds like Phantom Troupe Rule #1313! Lmao

* **ChroVal** \- Oh, yay! Valtiel fighting for schools! Next thing you know, after she learns Nen, she'll start fighting people. XD

* **Amy** \- Sorry it took so long for me to update the last time. Angry Danchou is not a good Danchou. ●︿● I'm just glad he has his share of Scarlet Eyes now to make him calm...

* **Dontcha** \- "Boundaries rip" So true! Our homeboy gotta start moving fast or else someone will sweep her off her feet. Literally, speaking. I can imagine Tserriednich or Hisoka doing just that! Chrollo gonna be so pissed, haha!

* **Random Person** \- Thank you very much! And don't worry about it! Your English is very natural!

That's it for this week, folks! See you all next time! Please do leave reviews and let me know what you think!


	19. Chapter XIX

**Chapter XIX**

* * *

"Gone?"

The prince's voice does not raise above its usual whisper.

"What do you mean by gone?"

One of his subordinates in the underworld stands behind the imposing desk.

With his face turned towards the glass window, Tserriednich could see how fear reflects in his captain's eyes, how well the moonlight shines upon the sweat upon his brow. He basks in this moment, asserting dominance to a weakling, seeing the pathetic purse of his lips as the captain sputters for an answer.

Tserriednich swirls his red wine before taking a sip. "Have you gone mute as well as stupid, Captain?"

The captain flinches and straightens himself. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but we have lost track on the target. I did as you asked; I sent the lowest families to Meteor City to acquire the target but−"

"Somehow, they managed to get past you," finishes the prince, sounding none too pleased. "Meteor City is nothing too special, just a piece of barren land meant for trash, like its people. How could you let the target leave your sight, when the city is not as large as Kakin's capital?"

He rounds towards the captain and glares at him with his glazed dark eyes. "You lost my Kurta, Captain."

"My sincerest apologies, Your Highness," the captain sputters again. "I will disseminate orders to the other families and tell them to secure the city along with the nearby cities. They couldn't have gotten too far."

"And you tell me that the previous families have been annihilated?"

"Yes, all six families."

"Who did this?"

"I believe Meteor City has a special military force," the captain explains. "Information from the two survivors of the Kiyobu Family reveals that a small group that surrounds the target is protecting her. In the latest report, the group seems to have become larger. They all seem to follow a certain dark-haired leader."

"Eleison, then." Tserriednich nods, his thin lips pressed against the rim of his wineglass. He remembers how the young man looks, though he never met him in person. Mark had showed him the picture of the pair−Mister and Miss Eleison−and upon seeing the young woman, he did not bother himself with the man. Perhaps he should have, only to imagine the angered look on Eleison's face when the lady returned to him that night. Eleison must have fumed, to say the least.

The captain shifts uncomfortably. "Shall I send more troops out, sir?"

"Are you familiar with the works of Han Feizi, Captain?" Tserriednich rounds the table as he traces his finger across the books. His serious countenance breaks when he chuckles at the captain's nervous expression. He puts an arm across the captain's shoulders, and whispers in his ear. "I believe Han Feizi is the answer to many problems in leadership, not only in Kakin. Did you know that he wrote about ten faults that followers unknowingly commit against their leader?"

"N-No, Your Highness," the captain says, uneasy. "What are these faults?"

"Oh, I wouldn't expect someone of your standing might understand," Tserriednich says, laughing, "but I will tell you one of them. I think you would like this."

The captain nods.

"Han Feizi believed that some followers only practice loyalty in small ways, which, unfortunately, overwhelms practicing loyalty in big ways," the prince narrates. "There is a story of a king whose commander did not answer to the summons, for he is more occupied in gambling and drinking and whoring. The commander lied to his king for not coming, his reason that he is sick and tired. So when the king came to see him, unexpectedly, he found out that his commander lied." Tserriednich smirks as he tightens his hold around his captain. "Do you know what the king did to the commander?"

"No, Your Highness, I-I do not."

"The king beheaded him," the prince murmured in his ear, so soft and low.

His hand that holds the wineglass then smashes on the captain's forehead, and the prince watches as the other man falls to the carpeted floor, now stained with little spots of red, from both wine and blood.

"The king beheaded him for being more loyal to his pleasures than obeying his king," he growls and slams the glass shards into the captain's face. The flesh comes apart under the sharp glass, tearing and bleeding quite hard.

"Please… Please…" The captain tries to shield himself with his arms, but the prince's weight bears down on him, forcing him to his back, while the prince rears above and shoves a large shard into his eye, one after the other.

"You disgusting failure," Tserriednich hisses at the corpse. His rich satin night robe is drenched with warm blood. His expensive wine, exported from Kakin's Henan province, is spilled. He stomps on the corpse, once, before returning to his desk. He picks up his phone.

It rings once. A female voice answers. "Yes, Your Highness?"

He feigns a cheerful, energetic voice. "Ah, Theta! I'm finished with this one. Bring in the next."

"Certainly, Your Highness."

* * *

The morning after leaving Meteor City is the hardest.

Seated across each other in a train, Chrollo and Valtiel are not speaking. They are not even glancing at one another. It is as if they are complete strangers who happened to pass each other in the train. Chrollo does not mind the silence; he is relaxed despite the silent treatment, occupying himself with his latest book than worrying too much about his Kurta.

Or perhaps he does worry.

He steals quick glances at her face, only to find her turned towards the glass window, admiring the stretch of rich green fields and the blue-grey mountain in the horizon. If she does notice him staring, she chooses to ignore him. Chrollo diverts his attention from her face to the aura surrounding her body and finds it soothing as well as elegant. She has been using Ten even without him ordering her to do it. And after three days, Chrollo could see how well her control has become.

Shifting in his seat, he makes eye contact with Machi and Shalnark. The two Spiders are posing as another couple and are seated down the aisle. After the continuous attacks in Meteor City, not one of the Spiders is willing to let their guards down.

The group disembarks in the last station. Machi and Shalnark go to another way, while the remaining Spiders led by Uvogin scatter throughout the station and observe each point of entry and exit.

Chrollo reaches out for Valtiel's hand, but she sidesteps away from him. He frowns.

 _Okay, not now._

"Danchou, the preparations are complete." Shalnark stands beside a brand new limousine, sleek and black, stolen from the nearest shop. He looks like a proud father beside it. "We will follow the plan and try confusing any stalkers, but are you sure you and Val should go alone?"

"We are fine, Shal." Chrollo opens the door to the passenger's seat, but Valtiel shuffles into the backseat.

"You guys had a fight or something?" Shalnark wonders.

"She likes being difficult," Chrollo answers with a sigh.

"But you enjoy the troubles, don't you, Danchou?" Shalnark grins, teasing.

"I do." The leader smiles and receives the keys from his Spider. He searches around the greenery where the station is located and spots Franklin and Bonolenov guarding one side. He turns back to Shal. "Make sure no one follows us after an hour. Then try to lose the stalkers, if there are any."

Shalnark waves his phone. "Gotcha! I have two men surveying the area for any suspicious movements. I asked Machi and Uvo to take care of them."

Chrollo pats his friend on the shoulder and smiles his thanks. Then he enters the car, glancing once on the rearview mirror, acknowledging that he and his Kurta are still not on speaking terms.

Despite himself, he chuckles and drives the car out of the station's parking lot, and leads it into the open space of the province, rich with vegetation and livestock. He has studied this place before, a minor province in a minor country, with agriculture its only specialty. Watching the green that surrounds them, he knows the province has done well in its job.

He drives for hours, contented with the silence. Every once in a while, he would peek at his Kurta, who is very much engrossed in admiring the fields and smiling at the cows and farmers they are passing by. Much to his disappointment, they would not be staying in this place. Rather, he aims for a much more civilized town than this one.

The green landscape soon turns into proper towns. Chrollo knows exactly where to go, driving into a small town with historic-looking architecture and flagstone roads. He drives into a small neighborhood at the end of town, and stops in front of a house.

For the first time since they left Meteor City, Valtiel speaks. "Where are we?"

This time, it is Chrollo who refuses to answer. He has the pleasure to watch her glower as she climbs out of the car. He stands with her in front of the bungalow house with blue-tiled roofs and a small manicured lawn. He senses her confusion and wonder, and could not help but laugh and pull her flush against him.

"Do you like it?"

"What is this?"

"It's our house," he says, pulling her towards the door. "This is where we would stay while you are completing your Nen training. It is not too bad, is it? I asked Shal to give us the best lodging he could find." He leads her inside and together they admire the place.

Like everything in this town, the interior looks old-fashioned but warm. Chrollo likes how Shalnark knows exactly what he wants: something that is not too extravagant but not too sordid. He likes the blue curtains and the photography pinned on one wall. There is a small fireplace at the center of the sofa set, along with a brown carpet. In all, he finds the place charming.

Valtiel looks around, before shooting him a questioning look. "We left Meteor City for this?"

"After those six groups attacked us in a matter of days, I thought it would be more efficient if we leave the dangers of the city and come here instead."

He picks up a vintage music box with intricate carvings on the lid. He lets it play and watches the small ballerina rise up and dance to the gentle tune.

"Your grandfather wanted me to focus on your Nen training instead of worrying about the attacks," he lies, for Elder Ryence told him to take her elsewhere, because her wishes for a school are too much for them.

"What about the school?" She raises her eyebrow at him.

Chrollo curses under his breath. It looks like there is no distracting her, despite the mention of Nen. "I talked to your grandfather about it," he answers, treading on thin ice. Either she fumes or she backs down, he is excited to know which one of them wins. "He says he would allow you to learn Nen, under _my_ supervision, before we could start with the school's construction."

"And the funds?" she prompts. "They agreed to let the Phantom Troupe shoulder everything."

"Of course." He waves a dismissive hand. "I think they are more relieved that someone else is handling the funds, the Phantom Troupe no less." He gauges her face, watching the little hopeful gleam. He smirks; he has her where he wants. "However, gathering enough funds takes a long time, even for the Troupe."

"How long then?"

"About a year."

Her face hardens. "You're lying."

A chuckle slips from him. "Now, dear, why would I do that? You cannot say that I lie to you too often. I mean it when I say it would take a year. Just put some trust into my Troupe."

Valtiel shakes her head and lets the conversation end at that. She wanders around the cozy space and curiously studies the rooms, from the kitchen to the bathroom and the single bedroom. She lingers in there and sits on the mattress, trying its softness. A large glass door dominates the right side, framed by blue curtains, overlooking a man-made lake behind the house. She smiles at the sight of the lake and the little porch with a swing and pillows.

Chrollo steps into the porch with her and nods appreciatively at the view. "You must be hungry."

She sighs. "Ravenous."

"Come, then." This time he takes her hand. This time she accepts. "I spotted a café on our way here. We could discuss how we would do things there, and hopefully, you would not be too difficult to handle."

"Am I?" She peers at him under her lashes. "Difficult?"

"Annoyingly so." He laughs.

* * *

The café smells of coffee and old books. The pair sits in the farthest corner, hidden away from the servers and few customers by bookshelves that serve as decorations. Valtiel does not miss the lightning-fast movement as Chrollo snatches two books from the shelf and sets them on the couch. When she shoots him a glare, he replies with a sweet smile.

It is late in February, and this town, set with hills on one side and the ocean in the other, is unbearably cold. Frost covers everything that the snows did not reach−windows, lampposts, and even the flagstone roads are slippery and dangerous.

Valtiel is buried in her latest stolen clothes, a grey woolen sweater and maroon scarf. Across from her, proud of his stolen books, Chrollo wears a dark purple coat with a furred collar and a blue-grey scarf loose around his neck.

A server swoops in to deliver their orders, and then swoops back out again.

"How do you like the town?" he starts, sipping his coffee.

"It's lovely," she murmurs, her golden eyes on the people passing by their window. "What's it called?"

"Horologia, known for its museums, historic cityscapes, and the so-called White Tower."

"White Tower?"

He winks at her. "We will visit it later," he says. "For now, I want to discuss the reason why we are here. Not only did we have to leave Meteor City due to the recent attacks, I want to focus on your mastering Nen as efficiently as possible. Judging the flow of your Ten, you are ready for the other principles, though I do not want to rush," he explains, all serious and authoritative. "First, I want you to promise your complete obedience throughout the course. If you disobey me once, you can find yourself another teacher."

She nips at her lower lip, but says nothing.

"Second, I plan to stay here until you have finished training, so you can forget about your thoughts of returning to Meteor City in pursuance of the school's construction. That can wait, but Nen cannot."

He pauses, building the anticipation, and smiles behind his cup. "Last, since we would stay here for about a year, we are to pose as Mister and Missus Eleison, husband and wife."

"What?" Valtiel chokes in her chocolate drink, spilling droplets on her scarf. "Say that again?"

"We are posing as husband and wife _again_ ," he emphasizes the last word, wondering why she acts so surprised when it happened so many times before during their Scarlet Eyes transactions. "I thought it is only fitting since we would be sharing a house for a year. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Why not brother and sister?" she asks and cocks her head to the side.

"I'm sorry?" Chrollo gives her a rather bewildered look.

"If we are sharing a house, then why not pose as brother and sister?" she explains. "It goes the same way, no? Brothers and sisters _do_ share a house, too."

"Val, we cannot pass as siblings. We don't even look alike."

The truth in his words is as clear as daylight.

Chrollo's charcoal grey eyes are on her golden ones; his raven hair hangs over his forehead, the back already grown too long, almost to his shoulders. Her hair, platinum blonde and under the warm orange light in the café, glows like a halo. Apart from the blatant difference in appearance, Chrollo is tall and lean but muscular, while Valtiel stands short and petite beside him, almost like a weak doll.

The Kurta seems unfazed, however. "So? Not all siblings have to look exactly alike."

Chrollo bites back a growing smile. "Ah, then you are implying that you see me as a brother?" He leans toward the table, his forearms flat on the polished surface. His intense dark eyes are boring through her, challenging her. "Tell me, Valtiel. After all these months, am I a brother to you?"

The staredown works. She shies away from his staring and covers half of her face with her steaming mug.

"Well?" he persists, the bastard. "Am I?"

"No more than I am like a sister to you," she retorts, finding fire for herself.

"You? No." He leans back on his seat again as if he is pleased, as if he has found some piece of an important puzzle. He sits back and takes in the view of her. "My brothers and sisters are the Troupe members. They are my only family. And as you always say, you are not one of the Spiders."

Something about he said makes her bright gaze fall. She grows quiet, mulling over his words. Of course, she is not part of the family; Feitan, Nobunaga, and some of the Spiders always make sure she is left behind from their games and bickering. She has accepted that fact, but to hear it from Danchou, who has been by her side for as long as she could remember, also acknowledges that−it is somehow thrice as heartbreaking and lonesome.

Valtiel turns away from his playful mood, and Chrollo knows at once that he has offended her.

"You are family, too," he murmurs, though the words do not hold as much meaning as he makes them sound. He only wants peace between them, not another rift for some silly misunderstanding. "You can be our family, too, Val. You know that, but you're the one pushing us away. You act as if you are too good for stealing and murdering, but you don't have to do them yourself. All you have to do is accept us−accept _me_."

"What happens then?" She sighs, already emotionally spent.

"Then you become one of us." He reaches out for her hand and kisses her knuckles. "Not a member of the Phantom Troupe, with a tattoo and a role to fulfill. Just part of the Spiders, of the family."

"And this is fine with, who, Nobu-san and the others?"

"Of course," he promises, and even then, he is not sure if his words hold meaning. He could not speak for the complexities of his Troupe members. "Just try, Val. You will see, I promise."

She smiles at him, though he could see that there is no happiness in her eyes.

They leave the café soon after, holding hands like the couple they are supposed to be. The town is cold and dim, like a grey haze in the peak of the winter season. Only few people walk around in these streets, but as the pair comes closer to the town square with its bigger shops and wider roads. At a distance, a white tower looms behind red roofs and smoking chimneys.

Valtiel, curious of the tower, pulls Chrollo faster until they reach the town square. Her eyes widen in both silence and awe, focused on the magnificent tower before her.

White Tower earns its name from the white stones in which the entire clock tower is made from. Along the base and sloping upwards to the clock, there is an intricate carved image depicting a sea goddess rising from the ocean with a conch in one hand. The conch is turned toward the massive clock, magnificent with its clear glass and brass clock hands.

It feels like she is in a distant dream, somewhere very far from here. A white clock tower swims in the deepest, darkest part of her mind. Her heart pounds wilder, as if she could not believe to see a clock tower so close. As if her dreams have finally come true.

Chrollo peers down at her face and sees the first tears slip from her eyes. He turns his entire body towards her and cups her cheeks in both gloved hands. "What is it?" he murmurs. "Why do you cry?"

She shakes her head, closing her eyes. "I don't know," comes her shaky voice. She sobs and buries her face in his clothes, soaking them with tears. "But I am happy, so happy…"

"Happy?" He is lost at her words. "You are happy to see a clock tower?"

"Yes." She laughs at how absurd it sounds coming from him. "Yes, for a clock tower, I am happy."

"Then staying here for a year should not be a problem," he predicts and raises her face to his.

Brilliant Scarlet Eyes look back at him. Chrollo could not have been more off-guard than he is now. He stands there, frozen like the rest of the town, as he drinks in the enchanting scarlet irises. He swipes his thumb under one eye. When her eyelashes flutter at him, his breath hitches in his throat. His most treasured possession, his best stolen artifact−right here in his arms, and they are extremely beautiful.

Snow starts falling.

Thick, white flakes swirling about them with the cold breeze.

It rustles his raven hair, and even then, he does not dare to look away.

Not when the Scarlet Eyes are active and they are all for him for the taking. Even as fresh snow lands on their heads, he only smiles and admires the bright hue.

He remembers quite well that Scarlet Eyes react to a Kurta's emotions. Chrollo has always assumed it means anger or hatred. He never once thought Scarlet Eyes could also react to happiness. He has seen Scarlet Eyes in deep red, from anger and violence of the dead. He has never seen Scarlet Eyes in the brightness of a Kurta's happiness−until Valtiel.

He laughs at himself. Was she never so happy with him until now? If so, then he must put more efforts into pleasing her.

"I am happy to know you are happy," he tells her tenderly. Feeling bold, he dips down to kiss her eyes, his lips lingering above the Scarlet Eyes. Then he trails downwards, to her nose, planting a soft press there. When he aims even lower, he feels her stiffen against him. He chuckles and draws away.

"I want to learn Nen here," she says, looking up at him. "No matter how long."

"No matter how long," he agrees.

"And after that, the school?"

"Yes, the school," he agrees again.

"But after that?" she wonders, eyes red as blood yet innocent beneath him.

"We can plan about the future next time," he says. His fingers trace the outline of her face, and she shivers. Another smile spreads across his lips. "For now, let us enjoy the moment."

* * *

Slipping into a routine is as easy as pretending to be husband and wife.

Chrollo, for the first time in his twenty-one years, finds himself in the most domesticated situation in his life. He has a decent house, regular food on the table, and even neighbors to come around and greet him in the rare times he is outside the house. Sometimes they are kind enough to share their food with the newly arrived "couple". Other times they linger by the gates, locked in a friendly chatter with his "wife", while he watches from behind his books to note which one she is talking to.

For all her wonder and curiosity, Valtiel welcomes the routine. She takes care of everything and little else, especially lunches and dinners, when her "husband" always insists that they dine outside. Yet the town is small and there are only few good places to eat, and not all of them as high-end as they always visited before. Besides, dining outside has become so tedious and repetitive that even Chrollo could see why she would try her best to make dinners for them, simple yet meaningful to him.

They act like any other couples would do on the outside, but inside−the Nen training begins.

Not one of their neighbors knows what happens behind closed doors. No one knows the rigorous training routine Chrollo forces upon her to master Nen.

Her Ten has grown steady and natural for the first three weeks. When Chrollo deems the flow graceful and all but perfect, he proceeds to teaching her Ren, projecting her aura more strongly. She manages doing so, after many difficult attempts, though he reassures her that she needs not worry about her learning timeframe. They have, after all, a year to spare.

He always urges her to use Ren for an entire night. While he sits beside a fire and reads his books, she stands on the other side of the living room and releases as much aura as strongly as she can. Most of the times she collapses in exhaustion, long before Chrollo's given time limit−and he would punish her by adding another hour. If the hours stack up to the point when she could no longer bear it, Chrollo resets the time limit of three hours and lets her work from there.

The training takes most of their time at night. Chrollo is not at all new to sleepless nights, and so the new schedule taxes Valtiel more than she could endure. She almost always falls asleep in the slightest exhaustion; sometimes right there on the floor, others on the couch. If he senses that he has been too strict, he sighs and picks her up, tucks her in their bed. He would only be tender at a time like this, when she is sleeping and tired; otherwise, he has to be strict and unrelenting, if he wants her to master Nen in time.

After two months, Valtiel graduates from practicing Ten and Ren, and proceeds to learn Zetsu, nullifying her aura to conceal her presence and recovering from fatigues. Having suffered collapsing from Ren more than a hundred times, she is grateful that something like Zetsu exists, letting her relax and recover. She finds Zetsu easier and graduates from that after a week, though Chrollo tells her that she needs more practice if she wants to be in the same level as the Phantom Troupe.

"I don't want to be on the same level as the Troupe," she tells him one night, her aura suppressed within her. She is told that this technique would be useful in hiding from enemies, and she wonders if she would ever have real enemies like the Spiders do.

"No?" Chrollo muses, flipping to another page. He is reading the collection of ancient religious poems that Valtiel has helpfully translated for him last week. Now he is more occupied in his reading than her practicing Zetsu. Still, he glances at her direction. "Why not?"

"I only need enough power to hold my own," she answers. "Too much of anything can destroy."

"Then you are fine as you are now? Not too weak yet not too strong."

"No shame in that. I am not going to steal and fight other Nen users like you do, Danchou."

"Oh, but confronting other Nen users is a part of being a Nen user yourself."

"But still−"

"Focus on your Zetsu, Val. I want no traces of your presence reaching where I sit."

After Zetsu, instead of moving to the next major principle, Chrollo decides that having her learn some advanced techniques should be fine. Three months into training, he has continued what Uvogin's training began in Meteor City: the use of Gyo. According to Chrollo, that should help Valtiel guard herself against sneak attacks or hidden aura. Though Gyo could be used with hands, he focuses on her employing her aura in the eyes. Secretly, he wants to see her Scarlet Eyes activated while using Gyo, only to see whether her aura might influence the livid scarlet of her irises or not. To his disappointment, the Scarlet Eyes do not activate, a faraway hidden pleasure.

For her Gyo training, Chrollo forms his concealed aura into the Norden language and Valtiel has to use Gyo and translate the language into the common one, reading the poems to him while maintaining Gyo at the same time. The mental and physical exercise drains her as much as Ren does, but by the end of the third night, they finish the collection of five hundred pages with twenty-four poems.

As Chrollo picks up another book written in another foreign language, Valtiel collapses on the carpet.

"Oh, goodness." He sighs and brushes her hair out of her face. She is asleep at once, lips parted for heavy breathing. He must have pushed her over the edge with that translation and Gyo combination.

He carries her to the bed and checks for the time−1:06 A.M. The night is still young and there is so much that can be done. He sits on the edge, brushing his thumb across her cheek, usually pale but now flushed with color in her exhaustion. He thinks back on their three months together, the progress in her training, how much she is eager to learn, despite the harsh training.

Valtiel has completed the first three major principles, and Gyo. For that, Chrollo believes another achievement must be made. His Kurta might have good enough control with her aura, but she is still physically fragile. One Nen-enhanced punch would still shatter her, and he is not fond of that idea. Another kind of training must come soon and he has to make the preparations.

That same night, Valtiel stirs in her sleep. Still in her dream, she opens her eyes and finds Chrollo adjusting his black coat over his grey inner shirt.

"Going somewhere, dear?" she mumbles, using the endearment he uses for her, to the benefit of the neighbors. It leaves a strange taste in her tongue, to call him with such sweetness.

"I have business somewhere." He leaves the mirror and bends down to kiss her temple. He smells of wine and chocolate combined, or perhaps that is just Valtiel hungry for missing dinner. He kisses her hair again.

"At this time of the night?" _Scratch that_ , she thinks, glancing at the clock. 3:51 A.M.

"I would be back shortly," he murmurs against her ear. "If something bad happens, I am sure you can defend yourself with Nen, yes? Can I count on you to defend yourself?"

"Yes," she mumbles, still very sleepy. Her eyes shut close as another kiss presses on her cheek. "Where are you going anyway? Who are you meeting?"

Chrollo draws back to study her face. "Jealous, my love?"

She rolls her eyes, and then rolls on her side, her back against him. "Give me a break, _Danchou_."

Now that quite breaks the enchantment and Chrollo sighs. He reaches out again, his arm around her waist, his lips on her shoulder. She is falling asleep on him again.

"I promise to be back early," he whispers against her pale skin. Then a mischievous idea strikes him. He smirks, devious. "You know, a good wife would send her husband off with a proper farewell."

Sleepy golden eyes open and glare at him. "I am sure you can leave without me seeing you off."

"You are a terrible wife." He laughs.

"And you are a needy husband," she retorts, shoving him away from her. She pulls the blanket over her head and grumbles under her breath.

"Okay. I will still be back early." He is amused that she could be grumpy when exhausted. Despite the blanket, he finds her face and kisses her on the nose. "See you later, wife."

She grumbles again. "Get going, husband."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Oh, wow! It's been extremely exhausting and stressful at my work that I didn't even notice that more than two weeks have already passed by! I usually just eat and go straight to sleep after work hours. I really need to take a break, a vacation... forever...

Now, for this chapter, we get to see a glimpse of Tserriednich's POV even for a second. Creepy prince is as persistent and as obsessive as Chrollo is. And we also have Chrollo and Val with a house of their own, role playing as "husband and wife" while learning Nen. I honestly didn't want to go through explicit details of how he teaches her. Otherwise, that would be somewhat like Heavens Arena arc or Greed Island arc where it would take chapters of details and such. Breezing through her learning with enough details... I hope that suffices and shows how Valtiel has a hard time learning Nen as well. Not as fast and genius as Gon and Killua (even Kurapika) are. Still, I'll leave the judgement to you guys and let you decide how the flow worked for you.

* **xenocanaan** \- Danchou will definitely make her life more miserable from now on. Thank you for the support as always!

* **HuangShaotian0005** \- If only I could do art well enough as I could write, I'd definitely draw them snuggling. Alas! I could only write. The image of them snuggling will remain forever in our imaginations. Haha!

* **Amy** \- Oh! You like Uvo and Val together? Just wait until I throw Val and Feitan together, and there will be chaos. Val as a Conjurer or Enhancer with a possibility of becoming a Specialist? That sounds nice! And yes, if Chrollo only had a kinder childhood, he would be a better man. Thanks for reviewing and sorry it took so long!

* **Mia Mena** \- That's a very good analyzation! It is indeed ironic how Chrollo is traumatized still, but finds pleasure to someone else's plight. Such a sick, sick bastard. He'd definitely face karma when the time is right, and who knows? Maybe Valtiel herself would really be his bane, his downfall. There's also Kurapika in the future. And then he would realize that he **_never_ **should have messed with the Kurta.

* **Updates** \- Thank you for waiting for the update! I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

* **ChroVal** \- I understand how busy real life can get... Thanks for taking the time to review!

 **P.S. Do you guys remember that Valentine's Day special that I was supposed to post last month? I am halfway ready to publish it in a separate story/fic. When this story reaches over 100 reviews, I would definitely publish it! Please let me know what you guys think. Hopefully, you'll enjoy that Valentines Special!** 💖


	20. Chapter XX

**Chapter XX**

* * *

When Valtiel wakes in the afternoon, Chrollo still has not arrived.

Not that she minds his absence; this must be the first time in months since he left her alone for too long. She likes how it feels, being alone for once, walking in their home without someone else's presence tracking her movements. She makes herself a chocolate drink and steals Chrollo's leftover caramel pudding, and then snatches one of his books on the bedside table and curls up on the swing in the porch.

Her eyes are on the man-made lake, quite small really, though she is amused to see a mother duck leading her babies across the rippling water. The next-door neighbors are loud in their laughter, catching her attention. She watches them laugh and wonders if she could ever laugh like that, too. Suddenly, she realizes, that without Chrollo, she does not like being lonely.

The book she has on her lap is one of Han Feizi's many works. Chrollo made sure he stole the entire collection, bribed and threatened the original owners for a copy. She remembers the first night she laid her eyes upon Han Feizi's works−one of the worst nights in her life. She remembers the prince, his warm smile but the glazed look in his eyes, hiding a certain menace. She would give anything not to cross paths with him again.

Opening the book, she finds that Chrollo has made little scribbles and notes on the sides−his ideas, his second thoughts on the topic, some random ramblings. She laughs to herself, warmed at the thought of the Phantom Troupe leader making notes and questioning an 800-year-old text. She reviews the topic, detailing how a sovereign should rule over his ministers, and immerses herself in reading sixteen pages of the essay, each paragraph ending with a note from Chrollo. She adds some of her own, scribbling on the brittle paper, like a student with a report due on the next day.

She is too occupied in her reviewing that she does not notice someone else's presence.

"Han Feizi mentioned a story where a sovereign rules more efficiently if he keeps his ideas to himself," a familiar voice says. Chrollo, leaning against the porch's glass door, smiles down on her. "I believe he only wanted to cite an example of bad ruling, so that a sovereign would not grow too entitled with his opinion."

"A good sovereign communicates with his ministers, yes," she agrees with him. "Though in his example, the sovereign was surrounded by many people who would want him dead. Naturally he would want to protect himself, including his ideas."

"Either the sovereign was a coward or he underestimated his allies."

"If you are sovereign, then expect that not everyone around you is a friend. Some could be assassins."

"He was afraid to reveal himself to give his enemies an opportunity to strike, forcing him to exclude his ministers and allies when it was their place to have his ear, his very confidence. The sovereign made a mistake in seeing only himself. Not the very makings of a leader."

"And you?" She looks up at him with a bright smile. "What about the leader of the Phantom Troupe?"

Chrollo laughs and joins her on the swing, one arm across her shoulders as he kisses her temple. "I would rather devote myself to ensure the well-being of my friends," he says. "The objective is to earn loyalty, not demand respect or incite fear. Fear does not end well in leaderships. Fear makes a rift."

In the corner of her eyes, she could see their neighbors observing them. Time to play the role of a loving wife. She leans against his chest, her head on his shoulder. "And you don't rule through fear?"

"Of course not. That would be offensive to me."

"So where have you been? I was hungry."

"My apologies, dear wife." He smirks and pulls her up with him.

They enter the house again. Valtiel stops upon seeing another familiar face.

"Feitan-san?"

"I told you not to call me that," the dark-haired thief snarls at her.

"But why?" She turns to Chrollo, searching for answers. "What is he doing here?"

"Your progress in your Nen training is not at all bad," Chrollo starts, joining Feitan across the living room. He pats his friend's shoulder and gives him a little smirk. "Though I am concerned with your lack of physical training. I admit that I am not my best when it comes to sheer strength and power, so I requested Feitan to join you in your training."

Valtiel swallows the lump in her throat. The very thought of training under Feitan's supervision is already overwhelming her. She could feel the wild pounding of her heart by simply imagining herself training with Feitan. And who knows how long she would learn? She might suffer the snarling thief for half a year if she does not learn fast enough.

She nods, gulping. "Oh, joy."

Chrollo finds her discomfort entertaining. "Not only Feitan," he adds. "Of course I would want you to have the best teachers in your training. So I invited someone else to join us. Feitan brought him along."

As if on cue, Feitan fetches someone from outside the house. He drags the poor man by the hair and forces him face first onto the carpeted floor. When the man tries to stand, Feitan growls. "Sit," he hisses, like commanding a whipped dog.

Her blood runs colder in her veins. "Who is this?"

"This is Akamu, a monk who has gone down the mountains to seek a normal life," Chrollo explains. "He has served years upon years on learning a martial art exclusive to his group. He will teach you everything he knows, including what Feitan teaches you, in exchange for his life. Now, dear−" He says the endearment so gently, yet she shudders at the threat laced behind it−"if you fail within the time limit of one month, I will kill him. Do you understand?"

"You don't have−"

"I have to," Chrollo interrupts, voice firm. "Otherwise you would dawdle in your training."

"His life is in your hands," Feitan says.

Valtiel looks at the monk; Akamu has fierce green eyes, thick black hair, and a beard that falls to his chest. He is dressed in a grey roughspun wool robes and goes barefoot. When she studies his face, he gazes right back at her, his eyes filled with terror but also of determination. Does he think he could get out of this alive? If he does, then Valtiel already pities him. There is no escaping the clutches of the Spider when you are already tangled deeply in their web. Not when Feitan is the Spider, or Chrollo Lucilfer himself.

She diverts from the monk to Feitan. Black meets gold. His sneer against her nervous smile. They have each other, including the unlucky monk, for one month. If she fails, it is not her blood on the floor, but Akamu's.

Feitan glances at their leader. "We start today, yes?"

"Yes, Fei." Chrollo nods and fetches Han Feizi's book from the porch. "You can start the basics here in the house, before Akamu can start with the advanced techniques."

"Hear that, little girl?" Feitan croons at Valtiel as he undoes his skull bandana. He lets it fall on the table and he sits cross-legged on the carpet. He pats the space before him. "Sit. Make it quick. You don't want to miss your first lesson."

"Uh, yes, sir−Feitan−Fei-san." She scrambles onto the carpet, cross-legged, hands on her lap. She could hear the faint snicker from Chrollo's direction as he lazes in one of the couches.

"Fei is fine," the thief mumbles, rolling his eyes at her. He rolls the sleeve of his right arm and extends his hand towards her, so she could see him well. "The martial art Akamu teach you employs the use of hands and arms in combat. That good in itself, but I make it better."

Then the nails of his fingers grow into sharp claws with needlepoint ends. He opens and closes his fist, showing her the claws in every possible angle. "Martial art uses hands−good; martial art uses claws−better, maybe even best."

"And I can do that?" she wonders, eyeing the claws. "How sharp are they?"

"I can tear off limbs," he says. "Want me to demonstrate? You don't need ten fingers, do you?"

"I need them all, thank you very much." She tucks her hands under her thighs.

To her surprise, Feitan actually chuckles. His dark eyes gleam out of unconcealed malice. "Very well, keep all your fingers. You might need them."

The nails of his left hand turn into claws, and he shows both hands to her, feeling rather silly for educating a woman who is supposed to be dead, if not for their Danchou's strange fondness of her. "You turn your fingernails into claws first, before Akamu can teach you martial art."

"How can I do that?" she asks, already nervous.

"This requires extreme muscle and joint control," he explains, grinning wickedly. "We can start by breaking all your fingers and dislocating them from their joints−"

"Feitan," comes Chrollo's quiet admonishing.

"Right, Danchou." Feitan deflates, defeated, and blows at his bangs. "Okay, maybe no breaking. But you get the point, little girl. Master claws first, then martial art. You have one month. If late, I will kill Akamu without even using my claws. Understand?"

"Yes," she whispers, pale and sweating.

This would be a very long month indeed.

* * *

As she expects, Feitan turns out to be a harsher, stricter teacher than Chrollo. The short thief gives her no breaks and scolds her to no ends, throwing harsh insults one after another, to the point that in her extreme exhaustion and stress, she is almost breaking into tears. Yet she dares not cry in front of him, for fear that he might−and he certainly would−see it as weakness and shout more insults. Chrollo never once tries to interrupt Feitan's rhythm in teaching, choosing only to stay in his quiet corner and read his books, while Akamu is locked in a closet until his time has come.

Her first successful breakthrough with the fingers is after four days.

One hand, her right: claws. Perhaps not as sharp as Feitan's, but still claws.

She could almost cry for joy, but she is far from finished. She has Akamu to worry about, locked inside the closet for four days with little food and less water. He has not seen the sun in four days, and she plans to change that.

Claws in her left hand are harder. She is not left-handed, and the use of her left comes as a shock. From dusk to the early hours in the morning, she would force her nails into claws, to no avail, much to Feitan's disappointment. Her reward is nothing but a sneer or an insult, more often a combination of both. Where Chrollo had been strict yet reassuring and gentle, Feitan is a complete opposite.

On the ninth day, the claws of her left hand extend and sharpen. She gasps, studying her both hands turned into claws. She searches for Feitan and he stands right there, hands in his pocket, and nods in approval.

In her excitement, she squeals and throws herself to the thief. She knocks him off balance and they fall to the floor. Realizing what she has done to Feitan, the _grumpiest_ of all grumpy people in her world, she winces and scrambles off him.

"S-Sorry… I might have gotten excited," she mumbles sheepishly.

"No shit." Feitan sits up, glowering at her.

"But did I do it right?" Valtiel shows him her hands, claws outstretched like a cat's.

"Yes, but not good enough." He scoots closer and makes a point at each end of the claws. He presses his index finger on each, until it draws blood. "See? Not sharp enough. Should draw blood in the first claw, not fifth. Objective is to kill, not tickle your opponent." He notices the downward pull of her smile, the brightness in her eyes fading. He sighs. "But, yes, you did well, little girl."

"Oh, thank goodness." She sighs as well, relieved.

Chrollo emerges from the bedroom and observes them from the threshold. "Everything okay?" he says, cocking his head to the side. "I heard screaming."

Feitan grins. "Screams of the dead when we send them to hell."

Valtiel shakes her head and bounces towards Chrollo. "Danchou, look! I have claws!"

"That's wonderful, darling." He takes one hand and kisses her knuckles. He turns to Feitan, still seated on the floor. "This means she is ready for Akamu, right? Time for the second part of the training."

"Why, yes." Feitan stands and dusts himself off. "Let's retrieve the little dog and see if he can teach."

Chrollo fetches the monk from the closet and helps him up on his feet. Akamu looks more bedraggled than he appeared more than a week ago. He is thinner and paler, the mess of his black hair wilder and thicker. Yet his green eyes still have the same fire of determination. Chrollo, at best, admires that feat. At worst, that stubborn determination would be a problem. He would hate to kill another man in front of Valtiel.

Feitan stands short before the monk. "You train her, as we agreed."

Akamu steals a curious glance at her. Feitan growls, and the monk nods. "Yes, I train her."

"You have three weeks," says Feitan. "And three weeks left to live."

"Yes," Akamu repeats, the weight of the sword heavy above his neck. "Three weeks." He looks at the young woman he is supposed to train. He does not sense the same malice and bloodthirst that her two companions have in plenty. In his eyes, she is no more than a child, trapped as he is, in a deathly game in which the tall dark-haired youth has prepared for them. He gulps, troubled for both of their fates.

"The training starts today," Chrollo rules. "Do whatever is necessary."

"I can't train her inside the house," Akamu whispers as the young man rounds towards him. He meets the dark eyes, gauging his true feeling despite the warm smile on Chrollo's face. "Not inside. I will train her in a martial art, not arts and crafts."

"You watch your tongue," Feitan rumbles.

Chrollo holds up a fist, silencing his outburst. "Of course. You would need an open space for that." He pauses, thinking for better alternatives. "There is a beach at the end of town. No one really goes there. Perhaps that would be good enough place, sir?"

Akamu nods. "A beach is fine," he says, and then points a dirty finger at Valtiel. "She needs to change clothes. She can't learn in a dress. Something light and fit should do."

"New clothes, of course," Chrollo agrees. "Feitan, you and Akamu proceed to the beach. Val and I will follow."

"Sure, Danchou." Feitan shrugs and grabs the monk by his roughspun robes again.

"Must I steal, too? Or can I watch you do it?" Valtiel asks Chrollo once the pair is gone.

"It is too early for you to try stealing." He smiles and takes her hand, leading her outside the house. It is almost sunset, but the skies are already overcast for a summer season. He takes a deep breath, letting the breeze stir his raven hair. "I will teach you how to steal, but not yet."

* * *

Valtiel stares across the sea, watching the play of the silver moonlight on the dark blue waves. She has changed into a tracksuit, which earned her a scoff from Feitan and told her that she reminded him of Phinks. Her hair has been pulled up into a high and tight ponytail, the shorter locks framing her face. Her teacher is an old man in dirty rags and bad hair, but he stands like a fighter, carries himself in an air of absolute determination that it is hard not to admire him. Even Chrollo, she could see it in his eyes, is amused to watch the old man stretch and say a prayer under his breath.

When it is time to begin, Akamu sheds his rags and leaves himself with a pair of grey pants. Despite his appearance, he has a well-toned chest and muscular arms, a testament to his years of training. He nods once to her and she follows, standing across the beach.

"The martial art that I am about to teach you is called Death Strike," Akamu explains. His fists curl to resemble an eagle's claw, tight yet open. "Its main use is for grappling your opponents, force them into joint locks, takedowns, and after more rigorous training, disabling through breaking their joints."

"Which culture uses this martial art?" she asks, out of curiosity.

"Uh, the Nurchen people from the northern mountains," he answers, off-guard by the question. "They live in the mountains, among mountain animals. Death Strike was influenced by studying an eagle's preying tactics. You would understand more as we go on. For now, we focus on the basic techniques, which is grab-and-strike. This technique, in the sense of the word, requires you to grab an opponent, pull them closer, and strike them in their joints."

"And do I get to use the claws I learned from Fei-san?"

"Yes." Akamu could feel the intense aura emanating from the two men watching from the sidelines. While the taller one does not seem to mind−occupied in his reading and everything, the shorter and more aggressive one glares enough for the both of them. One wrong move, Akamu knows, would result in a punishment harsher than death. "Your claws," he tells Valtiel, "are most compatible with this martial art."

The training commences then: Akamu starts with the proper stances and attack patterns, which Valtiel easily learns. When the monk tries one grappling strike against her, she cries out in pain and collapses on the sand, gritting her teeth from the sharp pain in her arm. Akamu would then glance toward the Spiders, worried that they might take offense on the girl being harmed, but judging by the flip of a page and a yawn, they are not much worried.

Valtiel and Akamu are locked in their own world; matching strikes to another, anticipating each other's next attack, Akamu grabbing her arm and punching her in the stomach. She coughs out blood and falls to her knees. He curses under his breath and looks at the side; the taller man is narrowing his eyes at them.

"I'm fine," Valtiel manages as she forces herself back to her feet. She spits more blood and assumes the stance Akamu has taught her. "Please… If you keep holding back, I won't learn."

The monk nods in understanding.

They continue for the next hours, dusk turning to midnight, and then to the wee hours of the morning. By then, Chrollo urges Valtiel to use Zetsu for at least an hour, to recover from the fatigue. One hour later, she is back on her feet, exchanging blow per blow against the monk, and is receiving the brunt of each one of his punches. She flies across the beach for more than half a hundred times, yet she stands up again to train, to receive more damage. By the time the sun is rising, she has earned countless bruises in her arms and legs. She collapses on the ground in a dust of sand.

Chrollo deems the first session over and carries her back to the house. As per their agreement, it is Feitan's duty to watch over the monk, stashing him back into the closet until the Kurta is fit to train again.

"If she's lucky, she won't die from over exhaustion," Feitan comments unhelpfully.

She sleeps uneasily for an entire day, burdened with the bruises and the muscle pain. While she sleeps, she does not know the measures Chrollo takes to care for her, to relieve the swelling with an ice pack or anything else that Feitan suggests. While she sleeps, she does not see the concerned look in his face, how he abandons the pleasure of reading a book to sit beside her and tend to the bruises.

When she cries in her sleep, as she often does these days, he would swipe a thumb over her cheek and tuck her under the blanket. She is fragile as a porcelain doll, she could break any moment, and now he wonders if subjecting her to a harsh training is the best choice for her. She is the only living Kurta in the world, and he hesitates if such a rare treasure should be treated thus.

"I think she's fine," Feitan mumbles idly as he reads a book in a corner.

"What do you mean?" Chrollo furrows his eyebrows at his old friend.

"I mean, she wants to learn, so let her." Feitan shrugs, uncertain of his choice of words. "Train now. Worry and second thoughts come later. If she continues to be weak, she will die faster."

"You worry so much if she lives or dies, don't you, Fei?" Chrollo observes, smiling.

Feitan lifts his gaze from the book and glances at the sleeping Kurta. Again, he shrugs. "We already put too many efforts on her−the food and the clothes, introducing her to Meteor City, the rewritten memories…" He steals another glance, cautious if she wakes. "She's gone too far to die so easily. It be a shame if she dies like another of her people…"

"I suppose you're right." Chrollo brushes the hair off her face, adjusts the pillow she's embracing.

"What your plans for her?" Feitan asks the very question the other Spiders wanted to ask. He puts his book down and leans back on his chair. A single lamp from the bedside table illuminates the entire room; in his corner, his face is in the shadows, his dark eyes glinting. "Do you plan on send her back into the world when you done with her? Kill her when you get tired of her? Make her join the Troupe?"

"I am not sure yet, though I am certain I would _not_ send her back out there," Chrollo answers. He understands his friend's sentiments regarding the matter, and even considers it. He stares at Valtiel's serene face and sighs. "For sure, I am not sending her anywhere else. She is mine. I would do everything I want to do with her as I see fit. If she dies−" He stops, unable to imagine such a thing. "If _something_ ever happens to her, I might… do something about it…"

Feitan raises a dark eyebrow. Is this true? Their Danchou, at a loss for words? Impossible. The Kurta could not have influenced their Danchou as much as Chrollo has influenced her. Still, it makes Feitan quite irritated. Not only is a woman commanding such attention from their Danchou, but she is also amassing an affection she should not have in the first place. To Feitan, she should have died that night with her family, not playing house and acting to be husband and wife with a Class-A thief.

Chrollo senses his friend's agitation and smiles, gentle and kind. "You think too much, Fei."

"Is she all worth the trouble?" he hears himself say.

"For now, yes." Chrollo chuckles and crosses one leg over the other. The light from the lamp is bright on his handsome face. "She is difficult and hard to manage, but entertaining to say the least. And her eyes." The very thought of it brightens his face even more. It is almost endearing. "Did you know that Scarlet Eyes also react to happiness?"

"I hadn't heard," Feitan grumbles, not sharing his leader's cheerfulness.

"Well they do," Chrollo insists, like an excited child. "And they make a more beautiful hue than anger."

* * *

The training with Akamu starts again on the next day. And on the day after that. And another.

For three weeks straight, the monk and the Kurta suffer each other in their training sessions.

Unlike Chrollo and Feitan, Akamu is strict yet understanding. He has grown from his constant worrying of harming the young woman after a week and a half, when she could finally get the hang of the techniques and receiving the forces of his attacks. She is weak yet stubborn, flamed on by her eagerness and her natural passion to learn. She might have endured most of his attacks, but he could see that she bears him no ill will.

Instead of reading throughout the training, Chrollo observes them both. His Kurta's reaction speed and stance have improved; she could grab and strike Akamu back with just as much ferocity, but not strength. She lacks the physical strength that Uvogin and Phinks have. In his eyes, she is not even close to becoming an Enhancer. But learning a martial art that focuses on disabling opponents should be enough help if ever she is forced into a fight.

Her use of claws has become second nature to her, Feitan notes with strained approval. Though he still sees her as a dead woman, he could see now why Danchou wants to keep her around.

Valtiel matches her teacher's blows, wrapping her clawed hand around one wrist, digging her claws into the flesh, while the other hand is supposed to slash across his chest−but she closes her fist and punches him on the stomach instead.

"No." Feitan's rumble of rage is like thunder in her ears. He trudges towards them, a glare and a scowl already in their places. "No, no, no! You're supposed to make maximum damage, not pull your punches. You are training to **kill** , not leave him unconscious."

"But Death Strike is not meant to kill," she argues, frowning at the irony. "It's only supposed to disable."

"Not this time," he growls back, making her flinch from his rage. "I taught you claws to put maximum damage, to cut fighting time and effort. One slash is supposed to kill. Death Strike is just formality, a style in fighting. In real battle, you don't need style."

"I am not killing Akamu-san for that."

"Maybe not, but I can." Feitan turns his murderous intent on the monk.

Akamu immediately falls to his knees, his hands folded in prayer. His entire body shakes, and at that moment, he reminds everyone that he is a mere hostage put into play with another.

"Please," he whispers in a shaky voice. "Please, spare me… I did what you asked of me. I trained her for this long… Please, if you won't spare me, then spare my family…"

Valtiel's eyes widen as she whirls towards Chrollo.

"Secret's out, then." Chrollo scratches the back of his head and approaches the group. "I persuaded Akamu into joining your training in exchange for his family's safety. Feitan has Akamu's wife and son locked up somewhere, with a month's worth of food and water. Certainly, everything would end up well if only you finish your training in a month."

"And if I am late?" she demands.

"If you are, then Akamu dies for failing his end of the bargain and his family dies of starvation," Chrollo points out, not at all disturbed. Despite his charm, he does not try to mask the cruelty in his voice. "The way I see it now, you are far from completing your training. You only have one and half a week left to master Death Strike. You cannot hope to complete it in time and save Akamu and his family."

"I need more time," she says, desperate, clutching at his black shirt. She rarely begs, but if she does, it is not for her benefit. Her voice shakes, fearful for the monk. "One month. Give me another month−"

"The provisions for his family are only for one month," he says, unperturbed.

"Then give them more." Valtiel shakes him by the collar of his shirt, yet he only looks down on her. She knows that look; that is whenever he is amused and he wants a good argument. But she has none tonight; she has three lives laid on the line, depending on her capacity to learn. "Please… More time, Danchou."

Smiling, Chrollo removes her hand on his shirt and says, "No."

There's that smug look in his face again.

Valtiel takes a deep breath and slaps him across the cheek.

The sound echoes in the entire beach, only drowned out later by the calm waves.

Chrollo's head is suspended to the side, his dark eyes wide with utmost shock. His pale cheek starts to grow red, and before he knows it, a stinging sensation starts to linger there. He brushes his thumb where the pain is, while still speechless and even unable to comprehend what is happening.

Feitan is first to react: he grabs Valtiel's right hand and winds it tight behind her back. His force makes them both fall to the sand, the Kurta on her back while the thief straddles her hips, putting his weight on her. His one hand wraps around both of her wrists and pins them over her head, while the other turns into claws and presses daintily against the flushed skin of her cheek. Feitan runs one claw across the apex, trailing towards her eyelids. He wonders if he could make her eyes turn scarlet, if he could gouge out her eyes as he had done to so many of her people.

Chrollo towers over them both, glowering. "That's enough, Fei," he rumbles.

The other Spider snarls. "Is she worth it, Danchou?" he demands. " _What_ is she worth?"

"Nothing," Chrollo starts to say, but then sees the look of anguish in her eyes. "Everything."

Acknowledging defeat, Feitan releases the Kurta and removes himself from her. He steps aside to let her breathe, to let her understand the danger she put herself in. No one, no matter who they are, has the right to raise their hand against Danchou−not if they want to incite the wrath of the entire Troupe. The young Kurta, in Feitan's eyes, likes courting death.

Valtiel sits up on the sand, but avoids everyone's eyes. She caresses the pain from her wrists where spots of blood start to appear, from Feitan's tight claws. The pain is inconsequential from the action she did against Chrollo. She feels the weight of his gaze on her. She lowers her head, both ashamed and furious.

"One month," Chrollo whispers. He sees her stiffen at his words. "You have one more month."

She nods quietly.

"Are you happy?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

She lifts her gaze to him. Instead of anger, she sees only warmth. "Yes, Danchou."

He cups her cheek, his thumb on her chin. "Good girl."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Is it fair to say that the Chrollo-Feitan combination scared the heck out of me? I feel like these two together (maybe including Phinks) would make anyone's Nen training the worst nightmare ever. If I were in Val's place, I wouldn't be able to last long. Still, I loved having Feitan in the scenes again. I missed writing this short-tempered short thief. Haha! And our girl Val finally standing up against Chrollo, physically speaking, although it was short-lived thanks to Fei. Woohoo!

I have also already published the Valentine's Day Special that I promised you guys! It's titled under **"Araneæ Diem".** It would be around 13 chapters or more, depending on the consequences. Please go ahead and try it, let me know what you think of the prologue. Any comments or suggestions would be greatly appreciated! I just feel like I need to know others' opinions to make that side story better and more interesting.

Also, I've been having problems with accessing and editing my chapters through MS Office. It's already deactivated and I don't know how else to activate it without spending a hundred dollars for a one-year subscription with them. It may take another while before I can update my stories, but I'll do everything I can to update as soon as I can.

* **xenocanaan** \- Thank you!

* **HuangShaotian0005** \- The prince will face heavenly wrath! And a kiss? Hmm... Soon maybe? ;)

* **Amy** \- He was going to kiss her! Our boi Chrollo chickened out at the last second. Ugh. Val's Nen type would be revealed sooner or later.

* **New fan** \- Thank you very much! It always makes my day whenever a new reader stops by and gives reviews. I'm glad you enjoy the story so far. You're right about the part that every line is important to the story. I do drop hints here and there that would reflect the story's main plot in the future. Good catch!

* **Mia Mena** \- You left three reviews! I'd consider that cheating, but nah! No worries! Thank you for the reviews! Haha.

* **Alice no tenshi** \- Thank you for reading and reviewing! I do hope you keep reading until the end.

* **Dontcha** \- Chrollo, part-time Troupe leader and a full-time husband! His lips are indeed all over her! He's kind and supports his family, like a good husband would do to his wife. You know what else a husband does to his wife? *suggestive wink wonk*

* **Eric** \- You're just in time for another update! Thank you for leaving a review!

Don't forget to read **"Araneæ Diem"** as well, friends! Thank you all for reading and have a great week!

P.S. Happy birthday, Kurapika! Please grow up faster and save Val from these Spiders!


	21. Chapter XXI

**Chapter XXI**

* * *

"Akamu-san, tell me something. Why would a monk come down from the mountains after twenty years of training?" the young woman surprises the monk by asking. She is seated on the beach, using Zetsu, recovering from the fatigue of training for five hours straight.

"I felt I was missing something," Akamu replies after a while.

"Missing? Like what?"

"My life," he says, smiling beneath his thick black beard. He is seated across her, meditating, listening to the calming waves of the sea. "I spent twenty years following an ancient man who taught me how to enjoy the world, but I felt something was missing. So I came down from the mountains, for the first time in decades, to find out what was it that was missing."

"And what was it?" she asks.

"A family." His green eyes stare upwards to the moon, the sadness and longing reflected in them. "I came down the mountains and saw nothing but happy families and fulfilled lives. I never once thought I would long to have a family of my own, but I still did." He sighs and wipes the tear from his eye.

"Do you miss them so much?"

"I do. Every day, I miss them."

Valtiel looks over her shoulder to find both Chrollo and Feitan eavesdropping on the conversation. Both are as quiet as can be, and never interrupted the training session. Almost a month has passed since the slapping incident with Danchou. Now, she has mere three days left to train with her Nurchen teacher−but she has no reason to worry now, not like that night almost like a lifetime ago. She has listened and observed, she has learned, and most importantly, she has fought back several times and won. Akamu is safe, and so is his family.

"What are their names?" she asks again. "Your wife and son."

"My wife is Uilani," he answers with a fond smile. She has never seen him smile thus. "And my son is Keon."

"How old is he?"

"He is turning ten this coming July. I am planning to give him a present."

She smiles tenderly. "That sounds very sweet."

Feitan, annoyed at the conversation, trudges towards the teacher and student and glares at the both of them. Within two months, Akamu has learned not to fear the thief, but there is still the feeling of anxiety whenever he remembers that Feitan has his family stashed somewhere as hostages. Valtiel, on the other hand, has grown accustomed to Feitan's leering that she is no longer too afraid, only wary. Like now.

"Enough chatter," Feitan scolds them. "Time for training. Can't be late, little girl."

"I think we are making good time now." She sprawls spread-eagle on the beach, her hair fanned out around her. She lets out a tired sigh. "I get to have one hour breaks, remember? And look!" She points towards the midnight skies, dappled by several burning stars. "I think that might be the constellation Draco. It's very beautiful, don't you think so?"

"You know what else is beautiful?" Feitan asks; his voice soft and low.

Valtiel raises her eyebrow at him.

At once, he scowls at her and says, "Training− _that's_ what's beautiful," he snaps. "Get moving."

As the thief turns for the sidelines, she sits up and sticks her tongue out at him.

"Don't make me go back there and cut your tongue," Feitan threatens, without looking at her.

* * *

For the first time since her physical training began, Chrollo leaves Valtiel's side.

And Feitan is not so ecstatic to babysit this little girl as she mopes over the carpet while using Zetsu.

"I'm hungry."

"I don't care."

She peers up at him from where she lies supine on the ground, her image of him upside-down. Her cheeks puff and she rolls over, like a common dog, to her stomach. "If you want, I can make us some breakfast."

He lifts his book higher to cover his face.

"Ah! That's Trevor Brown!" she beams.

"What?" Growling, his dark eyes narrow when the Kurta runs off to the bedroom. He scoffs and returns to his book, but ten seconds later, Valtiel comes back with two more hardbound books. "What you want, you pest? Stop bothering me!"

"No, but look!" This stubborn kid is really asking to be dismembered. She practically shoves the books to his face. "You're reading his second published book. I have the first and the third! We complete it!"

Feitan rolls his eyes, but actually indulges her, holding out his hand for the books. Valtiel is more than happy to give them to him, watching in complete excitement when he opens to the first pages and scans through the artworks.

It's true that he only has Brown's second published work. Collecting all twelve in existence is such a hard hunt. He could understand why the Danchou and his little pet would have two in their possession. Chrollo is a connoisseur of everything and anything literary and artistic, but Val? Who knows, really?

She sits beside him as he scans the third book. She points at a certain artwork. "I like this one."

"The Amputee?" He reads the artwork's title. He tilts his head to get a better view of a dark-haired girl seated on an expensive wheelchair. "Pretty girl, but brought her own..." He doesn't know the word in the common language. Valtiel must have sensed him hesitate. It feels frustrating. "... Bad luck," he finishes.

"I understand." She smiles, and he feels as if she is referring to something else.

Then the door finally opens. They both look up to see the Danchou brushing his coat and sleeves.

Chrollo has a smile ready for them, but upon seeing how closely they are sitting together−shoulder to shoulder−a hint of a frown crosses his handsome features. Feitan instinctively draws away from the Kurta girl, shutting the book, while she bounces to her feet to welcome him back.

Valtiel peeks at the grocery bags. "Chocolates?"

"Absolutely, my darling." Chrollo takes her by the chin and presses his lips to her forehead, but his eyes are on Feitan.

* * *

Three days later, after laboring for two months, Valtiel finally graduates from mastering Death Strike.

Dawn is breaking across the horizon when Akamu and Valtiel have one final spar, his twenty years worth of training in the mountains against her two months, claws, and eagerness. She could not match him in a real fight, but she has become strong enough to deliver a fatal blow on his neck and scratch him on the cheek. Akamu stumbles backwards, impressed, and bows in recognition of her. Valtiel's eyes brighten at the respect, the golden in her irises catching the glint of the predawn light. She searches for Chrollo's nod of approval, and she gets more than she asks; he gives her a nod and a smile.

Then she searches for Feitan.

In the dimness of the area, she could only see his black eyes glittering int the shadows. Hands in his pockets, and his bandana is higher over his face than usual. The wind stirs his raven hair.

For a moment there, she thinks he would ignore her.

Feitan does the unthinkable.

He nods at her.

She beams. That's all she could ask for from this thief.

An hour later, Feitan drives a black limousine and parks it on the beach. A middle-aged woman with long brown hair and tired eyes emerges from the backseat, followed by a young boy with Akamu's black hair and green eyes, excitedly running up to his father for the first time in months.

"Papa!" Keon calls out and throws his arms around his father's thin waist. Akamu embraces his son firmly, and falls to his knees, weeping and kissing his son's hair. His wife joins them, the happiness written in her weary face, as she kisses Akamu and holds his hand.

"Whatever have you been doing?" Uilani asks, eyes dancing at her husband's bedraggled appearance.

"I have been busy." Akamu looks over his wife's head and smiles at Valtiel.

"Papa, you won't believe what happened to us!" Keon gushes. "We stayed in this very cool hotel room and had very delicious dinners every time! Mama says that's because of your work, right?"

Eyebrows furrowed, Valtiel turns to Chrollo for explanation.

Caught red-handed, Chrollo just laughs and snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her against his hip. He smiles down on the happy family on the beach and meets Akamu's confused look.

"I said what I said to motivate the two of you to work together," he explains. "Without threatening your family or giving Val a little scare, the training would not have been successful as it is now. You must forgive me for deceiving you," he tells the monk. "I never meant to harm your family in the first place."

"So you−" Valtiel nips at her lower lip. "That was just−"

"A ruse, yes." Chrollo smiles at her uneasiness. "You were worried about nothing." He leans closer, his mouth against her ear. "And you slapped me for no reason at all. I expect a compensation for that."

She blanches as he draws back. "And I have a gift for you," he adds, producing something from his back pocket. He holds up a sleek black phone, the latest smartphone available. "It is about time you have a phone of your own. I took the liberty to save my number, and I sent yours to the other Troupe members. They should be messaging you after a while." He levels her reaction. "Do you like it?"

"Yes," she whispers, breathless. She is not one for gifts−technology more so−but she is grateful for this. She smiles and he kisses her on the temple. "Thank you, Danchou."

Feitan grumbles at the unnecessary intimacy. "Yeah, well, that's very good and all," he interrupts. "Can we leave now? I supposed to drop these three at the airport and Paku already asked me if I can accompany her in a mission. Time is ticking, unfortunately."

Chrollo chuckles at his friend's impatience. He smiles at Uilani and Keon, and pats Akamu on the shoulder. The monk seems surprised at the friendly gesture. "I thank you for your services," he says. "As recompense for troubling you and your family, I am sending 50 million to your account."

"Really?" Akamu's eyes widen at his luck. "Y-You don't have to…"

"I do," Chrollo insists. "Your family would need it." He nods to where the wife and son are waiting.

"Thank you." Akamu bows at him, and then turns for his student of two months.

His smile for her is wider and warmer, like a father fond of his daughter. He tries to bow to her, but she shakes her head and embraces him instead, standing on her tiptoes to reach him. His mouth is open in shock; when he glances at the dark-haired man, he, too, mirrors Akamu's shock.

"Thank you very much," Valtiel whispers, her cheek pressed against his cheekbones. "For everything."

"I am glad to teach a promising young woman." Akamu returns the embrace, but lightly. The dark-haired man's critical gaze is boring through them like a sharp knife. Then he steps back. "Take care of yourself."

"You as well." Her eyes go to Uilani and Keon. "And your family."

"Time to go." Feitan opens the door as the wife and son shuffle into the backseat. Akamu lingers long enough to study their faces, as if committing them to his memories, before following his family inside. Feitan slams the doors shut, and as he is rounding towards the driver's seat, the Kurta's voice stops him.

"Ah! Fei-san! Wait up!" She rushes towards him and mustering every inch of courage...

...engulfs him in an embrace.

There is no mistaking the deep rumble emanating from Feitan's chest. He sneers behind his bandana and pulls her away at arm's length. "I don't remember doing anything that warrants a hug," he says grumpily.

She only laughs, the golden light of sunrise on her face. "I wanted to thank you for teaching me as well."

"Well, you could have just told me."

"But sometimes words are not enough."

"This time, they are." Then his eyes catch the sight of the Danchou studying their exchange. Feitan concedes with another defeated sigh, and shakes his head at the Kurta girl. "Next time, do not ever touch me again. Do you understand, little girl?"

"I understand." She nods, not at all surprised by his harsh outburst. As she watches him reach for the driver's seat, she remembers the phone in her hand and stops him again. "Can I have your number?"

"What for?"

"Just for business."

"We're not on business." He glances at Chrollo again, and sighs in defeat−again. "Fine."

Valtiel takes her new phone back from the thief and smiles. "Thank you! Have a safe trip, Fei-san."

Feitan mumbles under his breath. He nods to Chrollo as farewell before getting into the car. In a few minutes, he drives the limousine out of the beach, taking the family of three with him.

Sunlight shimmers over the waves as the sun rises higher and higher into the skies. It is quite cold for a morning in early July, though they suspect that the cold breeze must have come from the mountains that surround the other side of the small town. Tired and relieved from training, Valtiel collapses once more on the white sand and spreads her limbs like a star. She basks under the warm sun, falling into another state of Zetsu as she tries to recover.

A dark shadow looms by her head. "It's time we go home."

She pouts. "I am tired. You can go ahead. I'll catch up later."

"That won't do."

"Then carry me."

"That won't do either."

She peeps at him with one eye and smirks. "You know, a good husband would carry his wife."

He seems unfazed. "No one's watching us. There's no need to pretend," he says dryly.

Moaning, she rolls on the sand and turns her back against him. "Fine, then just leave me here to rest. I'll catch up later." She starts to doze off then and there, in the middle of a public beach.

He sighs, growing exasperated. "Fine. Do you want me to carry you in my arms or on my back?"

That seems to wake her again. She purses her lips, considering the offer. "On your back, like a piggy ride."

Chrollo picks her up and balances what little weight she has against his build. Her arms loose about his neck, he feels that she is dozing off again, having been drained incessantly training after training. Her cheek is pressed on his right shoulder, the short locks of her hair tickling his neck. She smells of salt and sweat, with a little hint of chocolate from her usual late night drinks. He makes a mental note to make her shower when she wakes, and another note to reward her for a job well done. He smiles at the thought of it, rewarding her, and starts planning for tonight.

* * *

Nearly twelve hours later, Valtiel wakes up on their bed, still in her filthy tracksuit, but relieved of her shoes. She moans and buries her face into Chrollo's pillow. She feels numb pain in her body, but not painful enough to hurt. Like a stubborn child, she forces herself back to sleep, to catch up from all the hours she missed sleeping in exchange for training. Yet she is fully awake now, groaning into his pillow, fighting hard to ignore his heady scent, but could not.

Her phone buzzes from the nightstand. With an effort, she reaches out for it. To her surprise, she has 11 unread messages. Still sleepy, she breezes through them all.

 _06:45 +31-55-796-723: Good morning, Valtiel. This is Paku. Save my number, okay? I hope you and Danchou are doing well._

 _06:59 +45-384-0784: This is Franklin. Save this number if you need any help. Take care._

 _07:32 +61-462-7937: Valtiel! You have a phone already! Congratulations!_ _o(^∀^*)o This is Shalnark, btw!_

 _09:00 +47-619-3436: Machi here. Call me if you're injured. I can give you a discount. If Danchou's there, then it's free. Be careful._

 _09:14 +59-713-7291: Yo! Uvo here kiddo! How's your Nen training going? Let's meet up sometime!_

 _09:58 +59-737-6406: This is Nobunaga and you're only allowed to call me if you're dying!_

 _11:05 +67-379-2104: I heard you acquired for yourself a new mobile phone. Keep this number in case you ever need my assistance. This is Bonolenov._

 _13:26 +15-975-0017: It's about time we get in contact with each other, poppet. Do you not think it best if we spend more time together instead of Danchou keeping you for his own? … You know who I am._

 _14:25 +60-259-4314: Good afternoon, Miss Valtiel. It's Yuan. My apologies if you're busy and I might be bothering you. Danchou told us to give you our numbers. Again, I'm sorry for bothering you._

 _16:01 +65-731-5234: Here's my number, Val. Save it please. Kortopi._

 _18:59 +87-672-0422: Hey, doll face. It's Phinks. I received Danchou's message only now. You guys better be doing okay. If not… eh, never mind. Fei says you're both fine._

Valtiel reviews all the messages she received throughout the entire day, and feels warmth swelling in her heart. She has everyone's numbers saved in her phone now, including Danchou's and Feitan's. She reads them again one after the other, unable to keep the smile growing in her face.

Suddenly, her phone buzzes again.

 _19:03 Uvo-san:_ _o(^∀^*)o_

 _19:03 Uvo-san:_ _(*^_ _^*)_

 _19:03 Uvo-san: Shal taught me how to do that in my phone._

 _19:04 Uvo-san: (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_

 _19:05 Phink-san: UVO STOP SENDING ME THESE STUPID FACES_

 _19:06 Phink-san: Oh shit wrong send. Sorry doll face_

Valtiel rolls on her stomach and laughs aloud. She stretches like a lazy cat across the bed, her sock-covered feet swaying in the air. After Phinks's outburst, she gets no more new messages, which is fine for her. She relishes what little time she has to enjoy the company of the Troupe, despite virtually.

"What are you smiling about?" a quiet voice asks.

She turns around to face him, and makes a face at him. They have been together for more than half a year and she has seen him half-naked over a hundred times. Tonight is no different. "Nothing. What's up?"

Chrollo enters the bedroom and strides across the floor, covered only by a dark green towel around his hips. His raven hair is a damp, tangled mess about his neck and jaw. He fetches a smaller towel from the closet and starts patting his hair with it.

"I am fresh from the shower," he says, as if she has not noticed.

She rolls her eyes at him and he laughs.

"No, I mean, we are going out," he says.

"Going out?" She raises an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Out." He finishes with his hair and moves to pick a suit from the closet. "To dinner."

"What for?"

"We have not gone out for dinner since your training began," Chrollo explains in his soft voice. He produces a black suit ensemble with a white inner shirt and black necktie. He lays it on the foot of the bed, and then sits on the edge, close to her. Under the lamplight, his alabaster skin glistens, smooth and still damp. "I want to take you out for dinner," he explains. "We have a reservation in a restaurant out of town."

"But we still have leftover in the fridge," she argues. "We can eat that."

"And let the reservation go to waste?" He stands and shakes his head. "Not a chance."

"Oh, fine." She kicks the blanket off her and enters the bathroom.

"Make it quick," he calls out after her. "And your dress is already prepared."

* * *

The next town is larger and more luxurious. Instead of archaic buildings or flagstone roads, it has glass buildings and paved roads. It is hotter here as well, despite the evening breeze. As Valtiel looks out the window of their newly stolen black sports car, she realizes that she prefers little Horologia with its cozy cafés and white sand beach. She misses looking at the White Tower and its massive clock. Instead, tonight she gets commercial districts and metropolitan buildings with its unending stream of bright lights.

The car's engine roars throatily as Chrollo pulls it into a stop. One of the valets comes jogging towards them, receives the key from Chrollo, and drives the car towards the parking lot.

As they have done so many times before, they walk with their arms intertwined with one another. Chrollo shares a few words with the man at the lobby.

The maître d leads them into a fancy dining room with golden triangular lamps, with chains of diamond hanging loosely. The diamonds catch the light, winking and blinding to the eyes. There are quite a number of people here, locked in conversations, and wineglasses in hand. The maître d takes them into a balcony with dim lighting and that overlooks the city from afar.

When he is gone, the pair settles into their seats.

"Cold?" Chrollo's eyes are on her bare shoulders and arms.

"Not in this dress, no." She smiles, gesturing on the navy blue off-shoulder dress. Her platinum-blonde hair is up in a half-ponytail, its thick wavy locks over one shoulder. A pair of diamond earrings wink under the dim lights. "To what do I owe this dinner, Danchou?"

"To yourself," he answers, raising his wineglass to her. "You did well in your training."

"Did I?" She sips on her water. "I am glad you're pleased."

"I am," he confirms. "Within five months you mastered the first three principles, with the inclusion of Gyo. Then you suffered months to master Akamu's martial art. I am very pleased with the progress of your training, so I had thought a lovely dinner is due."

"How sweet." Her eyes flash at him. "What's next in training?"

Chrollo takes another sip, and then licks his lips. "Hatsu," he says. "Putting everything you learned thus far into action. It is a Nen user's personal manifestation of their Nen training, reflecting their character." He notices her confusion, and so he elaborates: "Yuan's ability to turn his entire body into iron, Machi's threads, and even Kortopi's ability to make copies of those paper cranes− _that_ is a Hatsu ability. Since it reflects the user, it differentiates between people. You would have to devise one of your own."

She nods, taking everything into heart. "And how do I do that?"

"You would have to go through Water Divination first. If you remember, Uvo already subjected you to it while we were in Meteor City. You would have do to that again, to determine which category you belong."

"And if I already know?"

"You still have to do it under my supervision. Anyway, we have more than half a year to spare." He raises his glass to her. "So, cheers?"

"No, thank you. I like my water." She grins and clinks their glasses together.

Dinner commences afterwards. They dine on extravagant baked seafood and chicken cooked in gravy. There is venison cooked in aromatic red wine sauce, topped with herbs, partnered with champagne. A small group of musicians is playing a romantic tune in the corner, setting the mood between the couples dining here in the balcony. And Chrollo−ever the good and eager conversationalist−starts the pace by asking about Han Feizi's take on the so-called three relationships that brings harmony to a country.

She purses her lips as she listens to his ramblings. Half of her attention is on his words, but the other half painfully reminds her of the Kakin prince. Much to her annoyance, both prince and thief appear to be captivated by the ancient philosopher's leading skills.

"Han Feizi says that a minister serves a ruler, a son serves his father, and a wife serves her husband."

"Oh, I have not read that part of the book yet," she murmurs.

"Which part have you finished already?"

"I am still stuck on the sovereign against his minister part," she says, exasperated, and makes a face.

He chuckles, bemused. "Well, you have been training. I did not expect you to continue reading Han Feizi while you are out there learning the Death Strike from Akamu. No hurt feelings if you can't catch up with me, dear Val. If you want, I can narrate to you some good arguments he pointed out."

"You think too much of yourself."

"Me? Perhaps," he agrees.

"Not the very makings of a leader."

Valtiel expects another comeback from him, but when she lifts her gaze from her food to his face, she finds him quite enthralled to the latest pair entering the balcony. Her golden eyes follow his sight and lands on a young man and woman, arms intertwined, taking the seat on the other side of the place.

Chrollo's eyes are on the woman: black-haired and bronze-skinned, she wears an airy gown of white and gold, open at the sides to reveal the lush curves of her waist and hips, and an ornate brass snake coiled around her upper forearms. Her dark hair is a thick mane that falls in loose ringlets across her shoulders and back. Her lips are red and lush, spread into a wide smile as she kisses the man she arrived with, full on the lips, for everyone in the balcony to see.

When Chrollo finally tears his eyes away from her, he sees Valtiel scowling at him.

"What?" he asks, suddenly innocent.

"Nothing." She shrugs her shoulders. Now she feels self-conscious, comparing her bare shoulders to that woman. She should have worn something less exposing. Taking her water, she sips until it is empty.

"You are upset about something," he guesses. He sits straight in his chair, forearms on the table; eyes only on her−as if that would heal the damage that was already done. When she does not reply, he tilts his head to the side and smiles that infuriating smug smile. Not so innocent anymore. "You're jealous?"

"Oh, no." Valtiel throws her head back and laughs spitefully. "You really do think too much of yourself."

"Then you have no qualms if I approach her," he says, taking the insult in stride.

She gestures with a hand. "Knock yourself out, Danchou."

He smiles, pouring oil into the fire, adding insult to insult. He does not care that her frown deepens. Rather, he is amused and wants to take it to the next level. He rises from his chair and has the audacity to kiss the back of her hand, as if asking permission.

"Then I will, Val," he says and strides to where the pair is seated.

From her peripheral vision, Valtiel watches as Chrollo introduces himself to the pair. Judging by the man's smile and the woman's demure laugh, the Spider leader is successful in capturing their attention. She scowls; not only did he ask her to have dinner, but also he has the very _nerve_ to leave her−just like the night she met the prince. She was suffering alone while Chrollo was enjoying himself. It was unfair, like how it is unfair now, seated on her own with a half-finished dinner. Suddenly, the musicians' romantic tune sounds sour and bitter to her.

She finishes what is left of her meal, despite the rotten appetite. She could not bring it to herself to waste food while children like Warren and Julia are searching for scraps in dumpsters.

A few moments later, sensing that Chrollo is nowhere finished seducing the pair, she stands from the table and heads for the restroom. If the Spider leader ever noticed her leaving, she does not care. She lingers in the room for a while, leaned against the elegant sink trimmed with silver edges, and rummages through her phone, rereading the Spiders' messages for her. She laughs again at Uvo's smiley faces and Phinks's thunderous rage, imagining what could have been if the Troupe are together.

She is caught off-guard when a text appears on the screen.

 _21:34 Chrollo Lucilfer: Where are you, wife?_

She has almost forgotten that he saved his number earlier.

Begrudgingly, she sighs and emerges from the restroom. She passes by the restaurant's bar as a young man backs away from the counter.

They collide together, his back on her chest, and she steadies herself on her heels and grabs the man around the wrist. The man curses at the spilled drink on the floor. He drops his scowl, however, when he sees the worried look on her face.

Valtiel bows a little. "Oh, I am so sorry! I was preoccupied with my thoughts and−"

"It is quite fine. Really." He laughs it off, waving a hand. "It was my fault, too. But are you all right?"

"Why, yes." She smiles, only to realize that this is the same man with whom the black-haired woman arrived. She gulps then, at a loss for words, unable what to do with this man smiling down on her.

"It is rare for me to accidentally bump into someone," he muses. He has a mass of brown curls that tumbles over his forehead and shoulders. His eyes, brighter under the light of the chandeliers, seem like a deeper shade of hazel. He wears a white suit with a maroon vest and black shoes. He inches closer, smelling of red wine. "What is your name?"

"I am−" Her eyes catch Chrollo in the other side of the room.

The Spider leader has cornered the beautiful woman into a side, his one arm pinned on the wall to trap her there. He is smiling, and so is the woman.

Valtiel returns her focus on the young man and feigns a smile. "I am Valtiel Eleison."

"Oh?" He sounds surprised. He checks back and nods at Chrollo's direction. "Your husband, then?"

She feels a wave of sudden resentment for the Spider head, and so she laughs and says, "My brother."

The man looks relieved. "My name is Luca. That woman over there is my friend, Nicola." He draws her to the bar and snaps his fingers for the bartender. He flashes her a charming smile−not at all dirty or perverted, but a pure, cheerful smile. She relaxes in his presence, enjoying his unexpected company. "Do you drink?"

A little chuckle comes from her. "Oh, no. My… _brother_ … he's forbidden me to drink."

"Then you wouldn't mind if I drink enough for us." Luca smiles again and fills two glasses for himself. He finishes the first in three gulps, and then swirls the other drink in his hand. "You're not from around here."

"How could you tell?" She studies his face, which breaks into another charming smile.

"Your accent," he says and leans close to her face. "And your hair and eyes." He rolls a lock of her platinum-blonde hair between forefinger and thumb. "People who are born in this side of the world are usually dark-haired and dark-skinned. Look at Nicola: her parents are natives of this region and she inherited everything from them. She's quite exotic, very popular with the guys." And he chugs another drink.

"I can see that." Valtiel examines the other woman, how her body language seems to draw Chrollo ever closer. She feels another wave of resentment, higher than before. "She is quite beautiful, isn't she?"

"Only a fool would not see it," Luca agrees and notices her soft frown. "You are beautiful, too, in your own way." He nods appreciatively at her. "You have lovely eyes. Gold and bright and…" He narrows his eyes and looks harder. "With a hint of crimson… or red…"

"What?" She blinks at him, uncomprehending. "What did you say?"

"I thought I saw something red in your eyes," he answers. "It's beautiful."

"Red?"

"Brighter than red, yes."

She falls silent and wonders what it could be. _Red eyes? How absurd..._

Luca lets out an awkward laugh and a cough. Valtiel turns to where Chrollo and Nicola are trapped in their own world. The pair has found a couch to sit on, away from the others, with Chrollo's right arm draped over the back. Nicola chatters like an eager cuckoo, deft hands touching at Chrollo's arm and knee every once in a while. He would pretend not to notice her touches, and laughs at something she says instead.

The tableau of them flirting with one another fuels Valtiel's irritation all the more. _Wife, indeed!_

Despite the heat of the flirtation, Chrollo raises his dark eyes from Nicola and immediately finds Valtiel on the bar, chatting with Nicola's partner. He swallows hard before focusing back on the black-haired beauty by his side. He would have to deal with his Kurta later.

Luca offers her an apple-flavored beer, and she accepts. "Have you been to Yorknew City?"

"Yorknew? What is that?"

"It's a wonderful place, especially during September. They do auctions there and hold extravagant social gatherings. The world's richest personalities gather all the time."

"To throw money at each other?" She clicks her tongue at the strange taste of beer.

"More or less." Luca laughs. He props his chin on his hand and stares at her under heavy-lidded eyes. The drinks have gotten into his system, making his words slur; and, to her dismay, into his head. "Since Nicola is occupied with your brother, why don't you come back with me in my room? My family franchised one of the five-star hotels downtown. I can give you a discount…" He reaches out for her hand and squeezes it, gentle yet firm. "Or you can get a free pass anytime…"

"You are drunk," she says, blunt. "Maybe you should take Nicola with you and go home."

He grins and his head falls on the counter. Brown curls tumble over his face as he starts snoring.

She sighs. She couldn't leave him like this. Glancing back to the flirting pair, she notices that they are nowhere near finished. It has been more than an hour worth of flirting. That should be enough for one night.

Valtiel crosses the restaurant and comes upon the pair just as Nicola is leaning for a kiss. She looms before them and clears her throat.

"Sorry to interrupt," she bites out, "but Luca really needs to go home."

Nicola's tantalizing dark eyes go from the blonde to her friend at the bar. She shakes her head and touches Chrollo's forearm in permission. He nods to her, and she leans in to plant a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. Valtiel's eyebrow twitches at that.

"Excuse me," Nicola says in her thick native accent. She rushes to the bar and whispers something in Luca's ear. She is gentle with him, combing his hair off his face and wiping his face with a damp towel given by the bartender.

Luca wakes and manages to stand. Together they aim for the door. Nicola spares one last glance at Chrollo before the doors close.

"Ah, that went well," Chrollo says cheerfully. He puts a hand on the small of Valtiel's back. "How are you?"

"Don't touch me." Valtiel growls, slapping his hand away.

"What have I done now? You said you have no problems if I approached her."

"I'm tired. I want to go home."

"You sure you don't want to talk about it now?" He smirks, devious as he always is.

She levels him with a hard, piercing gaze. She could see red spots forming in the corners of her eyes. The shock of it makes her blink fast, as if blinking away at a ghost.

He steps closer, concerned. "What is it?"

"I... want to go home."

"Very well." He sighs, knowing he could not do much without inciting another argument. He offers his arm to her, but she breezes right past him and rushes to the door. Scratching his nape, he knows he has a _lot_ of explaining to do when they get home.

* * *

The ride home is uneventful. Chrollo drives for an hour while Valtiel curls up in the passenger seat, stubborn as she avoids eye contact with him. When they get home, they immerse themselves into changing in their sleeping clothes: a nightdress for Valtiel and pajamas for Chrollo. When they tuck under the blankets, Valtiel rolls to the farthest part of her side, stretching the blanket taut between them.

Chrollo organizes the stack of books on his side. It has grown into a tall pile after so many months of reading between this book and that. Usually he reads five books at the same time, and if he finds another interesting, it adds as a sixth to his list of growing to-reads.

Tonight, he decides on merely arranging them in order, instead of reading until morning. He stares at his stubborn Kurta and knows for sure that she has taken offense on his neglect. He took her out for dinner, but he still ended up entertaining another that he found engaging. He does not blame her for anything.

"Val?" In the darkness of their room, he calls out. "Are you still awake?"

A slight shift on the bed confirms his suspicions.

He grunts and rolls over to her side, aiming to drape his arm around her waist, but she pushes him off and nudges him away with an elbow. Laughing at her childish sulking, he wrestles against her on the bed and puts his entire weight on her back, pinning her to the mattress. He feels her groan and sigh in defeat, her taut body going limp underneath his. He relaxes then, one strong arm on her hip.

His warm breath is on her ear. "Are you still upset?"

She grumbles something to her pillow.

"What's that?" He lifts himself onto his elbow and peers down on her.

"You smug bastard," she hisses. "Get off me. Don't touch me."

"Not until you forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive."

"Oh, there's not?" Again with the innocent tone. It is fast becoming her most hated tone of him.

"I am tired, Danchou. Let me sleep."

"You have been sleeping for an entire day," he points out. "Spare some attention to your husband."

She raises her head from the pillow and glares at him. "No one's watching us. There's no need to pretend."

The bastard actually laughs at her. He laughs against her neck, warm lips pressed on her skin. The hand on her hip wounds around for a tight embrace, pulling the length of her body against his own. "Yes, no one is watching," he murmurs, "but that's not enough reason to stop pretending."

"You said those very words to me this morning!" she exclaims, earning another deep rumble of laugh from him. She squirms against his hold, but his arm is strong and firm. She frowns deeper. "You said there's no need to pretend when no one's watching!"

"I only said that to make you stop whining," he says.

"And so I am saying it right now, to make _you_ stop whining."

"That won't work. I am the Danchou. I get to decide the rules."

"Unfair." She sticks her tongue out.

He chuckles and falls back on the bed. The moonlight shines from their window, casting shadows across the dark room. A sliver spills toward them, a vertical slash over their bodies. Chrollo's forefinger traces the moonlight over her pale skin. He feels her body grow slack beside him. "Val?" he mumbles.

She shoves an elbow to his sternum. "Don't touch me."

"Did you never wonder why I approached her?"

"I'm not interested."

"Make a guess."

"Oh, I don't know." She shakes her head, annoyed. She grabs a pillow and puts it over her head. "She's beautiful and exotic, I bet! So, can you give me a break and give me some well-deserved sleep?"

"No," he says in a tone so low she could not have heard it. He sighs and buries his nose in her thick hair, inhaling the scent of her lavender shampoo. He closes his eyes, feeling himself drift off to sleep. "I approached her because Nicola is the last pure Tongusic in this province. All her other clan members intermarried with outsiders, losing the dark hair and dark skin." His voice becomes ever softer, almost sleepy. "And I snatched a souvenir from her."

His hand reaches out for something and brings it to her face.

Valtiel, fighting a combination of sleepiness and irritation, opens her eyes to see the brass snake that coiled around Nicola's forearms that evening. "Why?"

Eyes closed, he smiles and nuzzles closer. "It's considered a relic in their culture. This coiled snake represents the unending cycle of life and death for them," he says with a yawn. "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," she agrees, "just like her."

"Yeah." Chrollo places the armband on the table and lulls into sleep. Then, with his last ounce of consciousness, he mumbles, "But you are still the most beautiful treasure for me."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** It's me making a comeback after two long weeks! Needless to say, I'm overwhelmed by the amount of support from you guys that you're all asking for updates. Thank you, thank you! I tried to squeeze a few moments of my time so I could update this weekend.

We've got more ChroVal stuff as requested, but also some... FeiVal? (Oh,boy, Chrollo's gonna kill me!) I kinda like the idea/tandem of having Feitan and Valtiel together. Two completely opposite sides of the character spectrum. Plus I really do love Feitan's character as a whole. Togashi found a way to make him well loved by fans and he certainly did a good job with the Spiders! I'll definitely give Fei more screentime in the upcoming chapters, but Chrollo and Val together-forever is a must!

What d'you guys think of Uvo's smiley faces? Lmao.

* **xenocanaan** \- Hoping you like this one!

* **Eric** \- Personally, I'm also terrified to be left alone with Feitan. Thank you for the suggestions! I did find a free writing software very similar to MS Office. It's so neat and familiar, I love it. Thanks for reviewing!

* **Amy** \- Lmao Fei a royal bastard and Chrollo actually liked it being slapped? Oh, boy! It does feel satisfying on Val's end but then again Chrollo has had more satisfying moments for himself than anyone else in this story. And no kissing anytime soon? Probably no kissing anymore given how flirty Chrollo was in this chapter. *smh*

* **HuangShaotian0005** \- Slapping that pretty face every once in a while must be a must! This guy's been flirting left and right! If I were Val, I'd leave him alone for good. XDD

* **iWeep** \- When Val slapped him, at that moment, we all must have cheered. Tell me, who didn't cheer?!

* **Mia Mena** \- Chrollo must've been shocked to say the least. My poor baby. :'(

* **Dontcha** \- At this point, even I can't tell if these two are already in love or are just good at playing each other. Believe me, I also want these two to get on with it and tumble off into bed. 🙈

* **RoseGirl99** \- This is probably one of the best reviews I've had for this story so far! Such a well-thought review, you've touched base with a lot of hints that I've been placing in-between the chapters. You made a good point how Chrollo and Val are the exact opposites, from their looks, personalities (and even their childhood).

As for Val becoming an Enhancer that can heal, I do see her like that... but we will see depending on her growth if she would be an Enhancer indeed. I absolutely love your description of her, that being kind and compassionate is her greatest strength. I myself couldn't have put all your descriptions of Val into words! Imagining Val as Chrollo's permanent lover makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

Val's mother? Hm, I'd like to touch base regarding that matter as well, maybe in the future when her world collides with Kurapika. We'd definitely learn more of their Kurta Clan dynamics when these two meet and scare the shit out of Chrollo. *wink wink*

Thank you for such a wonderful review! Rest assured that I'd treasure this always!

* **More please** \- Maybe I should start binge reading my stories too! I want to make sure all chapters flow well with each other, haha. I wish I studied Writing in college. Sadly, I did not and writing stories is just my beloved hobby. Thank you for reviewing!

* **ChroVal** \- More ChroVal fluff and angst just for you, my friend!

* **PLEASE UPDATE** \- I hope you enjoy this one!

Also, I will also update **"Araneæ Diem"** today. Don't forget to read and review that one as well. Thank you, folks! Have a great weekend!


	22. Chapter XXII

**Chapter XXII**

* * *

"Do you know why clock towers were invented?"

"Hmm…" Chrollo sets his book down to his lap. "I would guess because clocks were a rare commodity back then, and that people had difficulties acquiring them?"

"Close." She winks and he laughs. "Well, you're not wrong." She stares up at the White Tower. "The man who invented the first clock had a small family, yet he spent most of his life tinkering with his inventions and thinking of ways how to improve them. Before long, his wife got sick and his children moved out of home. I supposed he realized that he had lost precious time selfishly, and thus designed a clock tower to remind everyone that every second is precious."

"Did you read that from a book?"

"I did, actually." She grins, turning to her side to face him. They are seated in one of the wooden benches in the town square, quiet as the townspeople pass by them . "The story reminded me of Akamu-san."

"So I've noticed," he says and drapes an arm over the back of the bench, crossing his leg over the other.

"Do you think we have enough time for everything, Danchou?"

He observes her face, bright with curiosity as she continues staring up, admiring the clock's mechanism. With a thoughtful hum, he shakes his head and takes his book again.

"Not enough time," he answers. "All we could do is cherish all the moments we have here on earth."

Afterwards, they leave the square and take a little moment to explore the outskirts of town. While Chrollo is on the lookout for possible Nen users with interesting abilities to steal, Valtiel's attention is suddenly on the antique shop at the very end of the quiet street. She leads Chrollo inside, whose face brightens at once at the sight of many vintage collections.

The shop smells of dust and old age. Rustic furniture line up against the walls, mirrors with gilt edges on the farthest corner, and paintings with various sceneries on the other side. An old woman emerges from behind a counter and wipes her oil-stained fingers and smiles at the young couple.

"Is there anything in particular you are looking for?"

"Not really." Chrollo returns her smile and lets his Kurta wander around to satiate her curiosity. He himself goes to the opposite direction and to the collection of vintage stationeries and fountain pens. A quick movement of his hand has three pens inside his pocket in a flash.

Valtiel brushes her fingertips across glass jars and brass silverwares. There is a vanity with polished mirror and as she approaches, she sees herself on the reflection. She looks at her eyes, bright but for the deep circles underneath after her Nen sessions. She does not linger on her appearance, finding nothing worthy of appraisal, and moves on towards the back. There, she notices a gigantic structure beneath a white fabric.

Pulling the cloth aside, she finds herself looking up at a towering clock. It is made of ebony, black and shining under the shop's lighting. The pendulum within the glass swings to and fro, accompanied by a low and rather ominous monotone clang. The hour-hand and minute-hand are of gold and brass, respectively. When the hands strike at three in the afternoon, the clock releases a deep sound that seems to shake the little shop from its walls.

At once, Chrollo is by her side. "What is it?"

"A clock," she answers, sarcastic. She reaches out for the pendulum. Her fingers twitch at the sensation, and for one confused moment, she gathers her aura in her eyes and uses Gyo.

"Can you see it?" he asks, nodding to the ominous thing.

"There seems some sort of aura around it." Her eyes observe the entire clock, surrounded by a thin green aura from top to base. She releases Gyo and looks up at him. "How could this be?"

"Whoever made this clock must have been a Nen genius." He steps forward and checks every inch of the clock. Under his attentions, the green aura reacts, swirling more threateningly around it. He smiles, pleased with the discovery. "Some ordinary people learn Nen without their knowing," he explains when he senses her confusion. "Unlike us, they do not have to undergo rigorous training to learn the four principles. Geniuses in their own right."

"Interesting," she murmurs.

The old woman walks up to them. "Is everything all right here?"

Chrollo's smile to her is earnest and kind. "Did you, by any chance, make this clock?"

She laughs and shakes her head. "Oh, no. My husband did. He died before he could even finish painting it. It took me a while to do it myself. But this thing is very old and very uncontrollable. I've been trying to sell it for years."

"Uncontrollable?" Valtiel echoes. "Meaning?"

"It chimes every hour, instead of only during midnight," the woman says. "It is all very nice to look at it, but once it chimes, the sound is so dreadful and frightening! I hate listening to it every hour of the day!"

"We'll take it then," Valtiel declares.

"We will?" Chrollo reiterates, equal parts confused and amused.

"Won't we?" His Kurta stares up at him with her round golden eyes and it is hard for him not to indulge her a little more. He has in mind to rein her back a step or two, but reminded of his debt to her that night with Nicola, he does no more than a smile and a nod.

And then there they are, on their way home, with a gigantic clock carried by Chrollo as easily as a sack of rice. Whatever their neighbors should think about the clock, or his immense strength, it is inconsequential now. He only hopes that indulging her like this would produce favorable results in her Hatsu training.

* * *

The clock chimes again for the umpteenth time that day.

Chrollo now understands the shopkeeper's dilemma of having that clock with her. He grumbles under his breath as he exits the kitchenette and joins his Kurta in the living room. He finds her standing before the clock, looking up at it, watching the minutes tick by. He clears his throat then, and puts the glass of water on the small coffee table.

"What is that for?" Valtiel peers down at the glass.

"For your Water Divination." He levels her with an even stare, his eyebrow raising slightly. "I had thought Uvo already subjected you to a Water Divination beforehand? To find out your Hatsu category?"

"Yes, but he didn't use a glass of water." She shrugs and drops, cross-legged, next to the table.

"Then what did he use?"

"He used sticks and pebbles with water."

"And it worked?" He blinks, impressed by the feat.

"Sure did." She laughs at his expression, and then pokes the leaf on the water. "What does this one do?"

He sits cross-legged across from her and explains, "Water Divination is the easiest and most common method to identify someone's category. All you have to do is use Ren−" He places both hands on either side of the glass− "and release a strong aura."

Pure, white aura bursts out of him. It rattles the glass and the table, and prompts Valtiel to scramble away from his sheer talent. Even the trees and lake behind their house sway as if beset by a storm. As soon as he finishes, Chrollo gives her a small smile and removes his hands. He gestures to the glass.

Inside, there are no signs of the leaf. The water has turned black and brackish, with a hint of an unpleasant smell hanging in the air. Valtiel covers her nose and stays away, while Chrollo just laughs and takes the glass back to the kitchen.

"How did that happen?" she calls after him, the disgusting scent still lingering in the air.

"Every individual has different categories," he explains as he rolls his sleeves to his elbows and cleans the glass. "There are six categories, and each Nen user falls into one. As you have seen with my Water Divination, it does not fall with the other categories, making me a Specialist. Other Specialists would have different results than mine."

He finishes with his task and returns to the living room.

"Now−" He sets the glass before her. "You will use Ren and show me."

"Yes, Danchou." She heaves a deep breath and puts both hands beside the glass. She feels the weight of Chrollo's intense dark eyes on her face, and it distracts her. She frowns and focuses instead on the task at hand, enveloping the glass with yellow aura.

The water and leaf move together. Suddenly, the water dries up and the leaf contorts into a small, round object. Valtiel withdraws her hands, gasping and almost frigthened, and glances down at the glass.

The water is gone, and the leaf has turned into a seed. Somewhat nervous that she might have made a mistake, she looks up to the Danchou and observes his reaction.

He is smiling, tapping a finger against his chin.

She gulps. "What does that mean, Danchou?"

Tearing his eyes from the glass, he smiles at her. "You are a Specialist," he says with an unmasked appreciation in his voice. "That's wonderful news. Specialists are unpredictable, their abilities more so. It would suit you well to devise an ability that compliments your character." He pauses, noticing the bleakness of her face. "You are dissatisfied?"

She shrugs again. "Not entirely, no."

"But you already knew you were a Specialist when Uvogin tried you."

"Yes, but I hoped Water Divination could change that."

"There is no changing your Nen category," he says, and her expression remains the same dreary one. He purses his lips. He knows that look on her. "Did you want to be something else?"

Her cheeks flush in embarrassment. He almost expects her to lie, but she does not.

"I wanted to be an Enhancer," Valtiel murmurs, as if ashamed. She toys with the tips of her hair and avoids his intense staring at her. "Enhancers are strong, like Uvo-san and Phink-san, right? Or maybe I could be whatever Fei-san's category is, he is strong, too."

"Fei is a Transmuter," he says, with a little edge in his voice. "And wishing to be someone else would not do well with your Hatsu training. Instead, focus on being a Specialist and devise an ability you think would suit your interests best. It is still July. You have seven months left to complete your one-year course. More than enough time."

He takes the seed from the glass and flicks it to her face.

She catches it and sighs. "Fine, Danchou."

Chrollo stands and heads for the bedroom, no doubt immersing himself in reading once again. He stretches on his side of the bed, the blanket and pillows thrown about to suit his little cozy nest. With Valtiel rarely sleeping on her side since her Nen training began, the bed is his own and he would stretch across the mattress for as long as he wants.

He stretches now like an indulgent cat, when he notices Valtiel walking over to the porch. He peeks between the curtains, raising an eyebrow again when she plants the seed in a small pot. "What are you doing?"

"I thought it would be a waste," she says. "So I planted it. To make our home better."

"Right." He is unconvinced and rather lost. The house is no more than another temporary base. There is no need to be attached to something so trivial. Or perhaps she has thought of incorporating the seed into her Hatsu? He is interested to see how it would turn out, and leaves her alone to think about it.

"Ah, Danchou!" She runs after him.

"Yes, dear?"

"Is it possible for me to be as strong as Uvo-san, even if I am a Specialist?"

"I said it once, and I will say it again: brute strength is not the natural field of Specialists, though after some years of rigorous physical training, you could be as strong as any Enhancer."

He takes his book and lounges on the bed, leaving her contemplating with his explanation again. He studies her under his dark lashes, fighting the urge to smirk when she wrinkles her nose in disappointment.

* * *

Thus, her Hatsu training begins, though Valtiel struggles more on her own now than before. Chrollo has left her alone, opting not to influence her ideas for an ability, and she has not heard from Feitan or Akamu for weeks. Not one of the Spiders has messaged her since training began. The Danchou must have ordered them to keep quiet, so as not to distract her.

But she is distracted. She spends countless sleepless nights sprawled on the living room carpet, staring absentmindedly at the ceiling in hopes of devising an ability fit for a Specialist. After a while of staring, the great ebony clock would chime its dull and heavy monotone clang. In the silence of most nights, it catches her unawares and makes her flinch. When the clock calms down, so does she and her current distress of inventing an ability continues again.

On the twelfth night of her sleepless night, Chrollo emerges from the bedroom and finds her reading a book while using Ren. He nods appreciatively; at least she is occupying herself with Ren than distressing for hours on end. He steps behind her and rests his chin on her shoulder. "Any luck yet?"

She flinches at his sudden appearance. Damned Zetsu master. She nudges him with her elbow. "Patience."

"You've been telling yourself that for almost two weeks," he observes, teasing. "Are you so distracted that you cannot think of anything? That you don't have any ideas at all?"

"If you keep talking to me, then it would take me another month to figure something out."

"Shall I ask for Feitan's cooperation?"

"No thank you." She blanches at that and flings the book across the living room, to his face.

He catches the hardbound book with his forefinger and thumb, and directs a smug smile at her as he sinks on the couch.

She snorts at his arrogance, remembering that he is never this arrogant with the Troupe members. She faces the ebony clock and sighs. "Do I have to make it a Specialist ability? Why not Manipulation or Conjuration instead?"

"Focus on your own strength," he repeats. "And stop whining to me."

"Then go back to the room and leave me in peace."

"I can't sleep," he murmurs so softly.

Valtiel glances back at him to check if she is hearing things. A shadow falls over his handsome face and she could not place where this sudden melancholia comes from. She rolls back her shoulders and focuses on her Ren again, taxing it may be. She keeps staring at him through his reflection on the clock's glass and thinks of an idea that may lift his spirits.

"Read to me, Danchou."

He looks up to her with a little smile. "Which one?"

She taps her chin as she ponders. She did not think she could go this far. "You are reading something about revolutions with gypsies and magic, aren't you? I'm interested. Read a small part to me."

"As you wish." He strides towards his wide collection of stolen books and finds one easily. He hums as he flips through the pages, unable to contain the little devious smirk forming across his lips.

When he finds the right page, he approaches her and backs her against the solid surface of the clock, trapping her in between. He could see the quick flush of her cheeks at the sudden close proximity.

Sensually, Chrollo lifts her chin with his free hand and slides his warm lips across her cheek. He stops a mere inch above her ear and whispers in a low voice:

" _I will be the first man to kiss you, to bed you... whether you come willingly or not. You will be mine and mine alone, do you understand?"**_

She shudders at his voice; her eyes half-lidden as he pulls back to study her face.

And he continues with his normal voice:

" _ _Sido could hardly hear__ _the_ _ _words above__ _the_ _ _whirling sound__ _in_ _ _her head__ _−"**_

"What?" Valtiel snaps from the enchantment and blinks at him.

"…What?" he echoes, mischievously innocent.

"Oh."

"Oh _what_ , my love?" he prompts, smirking.

"Nothing." She pushes him off her and turns her back on him, facing the clock, so she could take deep, calming breaths from his insidious teasing. She hates it when he is playful, for it goes on two ways: he is rather mischievous or cruel. Tonight, it is a combination of both and for a young woman who has never known any man besides him, such a tease is downright harsh.

Chrollo walks away, pleased to elicit such a reaction from his little treasure. It is definitely amusing to watch her emotions go from curiosity to happiness and then to nervousness. He stands at the threshold of their bedroom and looks over his shoulder. Under the orange light of the lamp, her blush is evident and he comes away with another triumphant laugh.

Chrollo: 1

Valtiel: 0

* * *

It is only a month after when she has her first breakthrough with her ability.

As such, she never tells Chrollo anything. She leaves him in the dark of the nature of her ability, just as he often does when he leaves the house without as much as a permission. Not that she minds; Chrollo can leave and do whatever he wants, meet whoever he fancies. She only wishes that she does not wake up in an empty bed, suddenly confused and worried that something wrong might have happened.

In the rare times that he is out of home, she would take her time to practice. Sometimes indoors. Oftentimes outdoors, where she could enjoy seeing the mother goose and her little babies paddling in the lake, or where she could bask under the warm sunlight and see the little seed grow into a short, green stalk.

The neighbors would often invite her to a friendly breakfast with them, prompt a little gossip about the young couple with whom they have little to no interactions. The Eleisons, they tell her, are young and beautiful, but equally silent and mysterious. Valtiel is never sure whether it is safe to converse with them this way; but whenever they offer her a hot chocolate drink, her suspicions become unfounded.

One of the neighbors' sons−a young man of twenty years old−a photography student, asks for a photo of her with the lake and trees behind her as a background.

She hesitates then, worrying that Danchou might take offense of her doing something behind his back. However, like any other mornings, he is not home and she is alone to do anything. She smiles at the photographer, whose name she learns is Kieran.

"Photo?" She smiles at him. "What for?"

"For a magazine spread," Kieran answers, readying his camera. "For a school project, really."

"Oh. You are in school?" Elated at the thought of him studying, she stands from his family's dining table and proceeds walking outside. Kieran falls in step beside her, tall and lean as Omokage. "And you are studying to become a photographer?"

"I do." Kieran grins and sets the tripod on the grass. "After school, I want to try the Hunter Exam. I heard it has many benefits, like first-class public facilities and extensive travelling to many parts of the countries that are otherwise banned from the general public. I want to take photos of people in their homes."

"That sounds wonderful. Where do you want me to stand?"

"Just there, beside the lake. The sunlight looks good there." He adjusts the camera and peers behind the lens, focusing on her. "There, Miss Eleison. You look pretty right there. Now, stand still please."

Valtiel obeys, a little embarrassed since no one has taken any pictures of her before. She is conscious of her appearance, not at all finding her bright yellow sundress and messy chignon pleasing for a student's project. Yet she stands still and smiles as Kieran asks−only to help him have good grades. She could tell that he is a good kid, enthusiastic and passionate, and smiles all the more as he teaches her several poses and angles that suits his tastes.

Just then, someone steps out of the porch and freezes mid-step. Chrollo blinks when he finds her posing sweetly for a young man, who is eager as he takes several shots. He frowns and approaches.

"Good morning, sweetheart." He snakes an arm around her waist and kisses her temple.

"Good morning," she returns, flustered that even as Chrollo acts intimately, Kieran keeps taking photos of them. She squirms against his firm hold, but he is unperturbed. She looks up at him, her little nose to his chin. Another flash and Kieran nods to the shot.

"Quite busy, hm?" he murmurs in her ear, side-eyeing the photographer. "What is this all about?"

"Just for a school project." She is loathe to nestle in his embrace when Kieran steals another shot of them. She could feel Chrollo's big hand sliding down her back to her hip. "He asked for me, not you."

"He's not complaining, is he?" Smiling at the camera, he pulls her to lean against his chest. He feels her forced smile against the fabric of his white shirt.

Kieran nods again and reviews the photos he has taken. "Good, very good! Thank you, Miss Eleison! Oh, and you as well, Mister Eleison! I'll have this developed and send copies to your house."

Chrollo smiles at the young man. "Of course," he says and pulls his 'wife' back inside their house.

He pushes her into the living room, none too gently, and shuts the porch door and draws the curtains with a low growl sticking in his throat. He turns back to her and glares. "What was that all about?"

"For a school project," she counters, glaring at his rough handling. That is the first time he does so. She wonders what might have changed in him. "Kieran is a nice kid. No harm done."

"I leave you alone in hopes that you will finish with your Hatsu training, yet I return to find you flirting with a neighbor," he growls, prompting her to swallow an upcoming snide comment. His dark eyes are boring through her. He towers over her with his glower in place, much reminding her of Feitan's normal look. "Show me your Hatsu," he demands in a quiet tone. "Unfinished or not, show me."

"But Danchou−"

"Shall I kill, what's-his-name, Kieran?"

Before she could answer, Chrollo turns on his heels and reaches out for the porch door again, murder evident in his eyes.

As his hand closes in around the knob, he feels a sudden wave of aura from behind, from his own Kurta. Eyes widening, he feels his movements slow considerably, his fingertips inching towards the knob with exaggerated slow movements. It lasts for only a quarter of a second, before the aura vanishes. His movements then return to normal, his hand finally reaching for the knob.

Confused, he rounds back to Valtiel and she collapses on the couch, panting and spent. "What did you do?"

She is still panting, her blonde locks plastered on the sides of her face. "You asked me… to show… Hatsu."

Her head starts to swim nauseously from the effects, though not strong enough to hurt. She feels dizzy, as if spinning around for a few seconds. The couch dips from Chrollo's added weight as he sits beside her, cupping her face in his hands.

She glares and hisses at him. "Don't you touch Kieran or his family."

His lips spread into a cunning smile. "Of course," he drawls, the threat lingering in his tone. He tucks her hair behind her ear and leans for a rewarding kiss on her cheek. Valtiel hisses again and claws at his white shirt. He chuckles and draws back. "But what did you do? Was that your Hatsu?"

"It's still unrefined," she says, standing from the couch, yellow skirts flapping across pale thighs. "And I need more practice; I can't practice with you around. It's…" She breaks off, uncertain.

"It is what, dearest?"

"I think it might be dangerous to practice with people around," she finishes, remembering the unpleasant nausea she felt after the ability activated. If she feels such pain, then it would only take a while before her victims would share the same pain. She lifts golden eyes to his face. "Maybe it's better if you keep leaving the house for now, Danchou."

He weighs her statement for a while, and then leans forward with his elbow on his knees.

"Absolutely not," he says. "It already proves unwise that I leave you for the morning to find you entertaining other men. What more if I leave the house longer than just a morning? And you are among the Spiders, don't forget. Our enemies lurk everywhere. Leaving you alone for more than an entire day might be dangerous."

She nips her lower lip. She understands his reasoning, but her Hatsu training has to continue without anyone getting hurt. "But what about my training?" she asks. "I need to practice on someone."

"Could it not be me?"

"It might be dangerous, I am not sure of the effects yet."

"You're kind to me." He gleams at her. "Any particular person you want to practice with? Should I offer Kieran an allowance if he agrees? Or we could stay close to home and ask for Feitan or Nobunaga?"

"No and no." She frowns at him. "Take me seriously, Danchou."

"Then what do you need?" He sighs, leaning back to the couch with his eyes closed. "You know I can get you anything or anyone you like−if you would tell me."

 _My memories. Give me eighteen years of my life back_.

She looks out of the window. In mid-August, the small town is warm, with a crowd of townspeople wandering around the streets. It is the perfect season to test her ability, but she would not dare experiment on live humans, not when her ability is still unpredictable and coarse. She needs more time to focus.

Chrollo steps behind her and nuzzles his nose into her hair. "What do you need, Val?"

She turns around and faces him. "I need something alive," she whispers, her breath against his neck where his collar opens slightly. "Something with a… heart…"

"A heart?" He looks down on her, quite incredulous, as if a heart holds no meaning to the leader of the Phantom Troupe. For all his tact and elegance, he reveals himself to be bewildered at her request.

"I thought you said you can get me anything I like," she muses.

"I did, and I will." He recollects himself and gazes out the window, as if in deep thought. "A heart… is it…?"

* * *

The next morning, Valtiel wakes up amongst the plethora of pillows and blankets on their bed. As customary for her, she reaches over Chrollo's side and feels the space cold and empty. No surprise in that. She just wishes she knows where he keeps disappearing to, so she could ask for a souvenir or two. Perhaps a new book, since they have both exhausted Han Feizi's collection of ten essays and there is nothing else but epic fairytales and social revolutions in their bookshelf. Perhaps a novel about romance would do, so she could enjoy his face when he reads it.

She rolls across the bed, hogging the entire blanket. When thunder rumbles, she knows at once that it has been raining. The pillows are cold and she buries herself under them, basking in the chill after weeks of continuous sunny weather. She likes the rain, but she loves it even better when she dances under them, back in Meteor City with…

She opens her eyes and gazes at the ceiling. She remembers herself dancing under the rain as a child, but with whom, she does not remember. She sees faces, but none of them is familiar to her. There's a blond boy with determined eyes. A delicate boy with brown hair and warm smile.

The first one could only be Shalnark, but the second one… She is lost in her own memories again.

After a while of reminiscing, if half of her memories are dark and blurry is still called reminiscing, she rises from the bed and does not bother fixing it. Chrollo would return later in the day and keep the bed for most of the time anyway, so why bother? She makes herself a cup of chocolate drink and curls up on the chaise lounge next to the window, tracing the raindrops falling on the glass.

The ebony clock chimes at seven o'clock. A few moments later, it is the devil himself who enters through the front door, a bit disheveled from the downpour. He checks upon the threshold, surprised to see her up and about so early in the morning.

"Where have you been?" she asks her usual question.

"Out," he says tersely, before joining her on the chaise and presses a kiss on her hair. He snatches the cup from her hands and drinks, one eye on her to see her scowl. He finishes the drink with a lick on his lips and sets something down at her feet. "I brought you something, darling. Perhaps you would find me a very good husband now."

She rolls her eyes at his pretense and peers at the fabric carrier he placed by her feet. She blinks, utterly lost now, and hesitates to touch the carrier−until it lets out a soft "meow".

Her breath hitches in her throat. Chrollo chuckles and starts fumbling the carrier. He pulls out something small and black from the cage and sets it on Valtiel's lap.

The black kitten sniffs cautiously at her nightdress, at the mug set on the window ledge, and even at Chrollo's outstretched fingers. It walks around in circles, as if discerning what to do in a new place, until it finally looks up at Valtiel with its round maroon eyes and meows again.

"You said you needed something alive," Chrollo says, shrugging. "I stole him from a shelter. I thought it'd be more efficient to take something from a shelter, rather than a shop. He's a black Emphyrean panther. He is only a week old, but he will grow as large as a pony."

He stops his monologue, realizing that maybe his Kurta is not hearing him. Her attention is very much focused on the kitten, as small as a toy car, stroking his downy fur. He chuckles and cups her cheek in one big hand.

"Are you happy, Val?"

She nods, smiling when the kitten paws at her open palm. Its claws are thin and sharp.

"Yes," she whispers, ardent. She brings the kitten to her face and nuzzles against the soft fur of its belly. The kitten mewls and scratches faintly at her forehead. "I love him," she tells Chrollo, turning golden eyes to him. "I love him so much, Danchou."

"I am glad to hear that." He scoots closer to her, to have a closer inspection at her eyes. In the sea of golden flecks, the scarlet shimmers intermittently, like blinking cinders.

Behind them, the rain continues pattering, but nothing distracts his Kurta from cuddling with her latest gift.

He drapes an arm over her shoulder and asks, "What shall you name him?"

Lifting the little panther to her face, she smiles. "Pairo."

"What's that?" Chrollo stiffens, his jaw set and tight.

"What is what?" She gives him a confused look, while he fights the urge to glower. "It's just something from the top of my head," she says in her defense. "He is so small and dark and grumpy, like Fei-san." She laughs at the idea of naming a cute little kitten after a sadistic, murderous thief. "But I think Pairo suits him better."

"Why? What does the name Pairo mean to you?" His eyes intensify, though she does not notice.

"It means ' _starlight'_ in another language," she answers without much care.

"And what language is that?"

"Hm?" Valtiel glances at him and smiles innocently. "Why, Kurta, of course."

* * *

** _The Red Necklace by Sally Gardner_ (Tom Hiddleston read an audiobook for this. It's so wholesome.)

 **Author's Notes:** Thank you for everyone's patience! It only feels like yesterday when I've last updated the story, Time flies when you're busy at work, haha.

Danchou may have gotten a but more possessive in this chapter, but that only made Val a bit more independent when he started leaving her in the mornings. Whether this is a progress between these two chaotic, clueless dorks... I have no idea. We'll see how things would play out from this point on: Possessive Danchou and a progressively stronger Val with her Nen potential.

Speaking of Nen, what do you guys think of her Nen category and possible ability? Not too OP, I hope. That's my greatest fear at the moment−making Val seem like an over-powered character already. Most Specialists in the series are considered extremely skilled and OP. Chrollo, Kurapika, Pitou, Meruem, Prince Tserried, and even Omokage himself. What about her ability, too? I've read so many theories, but only one came as close to guessing! And it's actually a reader from my AO3 account!

The only other precious thing in this chapter is the little kitten. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside imagining Danchou with a little kitten!

* **xenocanaan** \- Thank you! You're fantastic!

* **RoseGirl99** \- I believe that anything Chrollo and romantic relationship will equate to an unhealthy relationship. I mean, this bastard can think of many creative ways to manipulate his partner! He's better off as only Danchou, not someone's boyfriend, tbh. And he is a first class liar, it's hard to believe in him once he's already lied once to you... which, I think, Valtiel has learned over the months they spent together. Despite the possible feelings, she still doesn't trust him 100%.

As for Val's mother, I may have an idea about who she is. The story could touch base with that topic eventually... maybe when Valtiel and Kurapika are finally together, both raging Specialists with their eyes blazing red, ready to tear down Meteor City. Ahh, how satusfying would that be? HAHA. And thank you very much for your ramblings! Keep them coming!

* **HuangShaotian0005** \- Shal should take away the memes from Uvogin's reach. Yep, I knew, deep down, that Chrollo would be such a special kind of flirt. I'd die of jealousy if I were Val, but our girl managed to stand up and walk away. So proud.

* **Dontcha** \- Lmao. Fei getting more love than Chrollo because Chrollo is such a fake lover! At least is Fei is angry, you will know he is angry. No lies, no fake smiles, no nothing. And kissing? Who knows? mMaybe Chrollo will step up in his game in a few chapters... *wink wonk*

* **Amy** \- Yay! FeiVal and PhinVal moments are my second and third favorite things to write in this story! Maybe when Hisoka finally shows up, HisoVal would be a thing, too? Haha! If ever her eyes suddenly go red and she asks Chrollo, I bet Chrollo will just start sweating randomly.

* **Mia Mena** \- I like to think that Chrollo held onto his word and let Akamu's family go. He was harsh, but I hope he let the monk alive. Fei must have felt disgusted when she hugged him though. Lmao. No more touching privileges if Danchou gets too much of a bastard! -_-

That's all for now, folks! Thank you all so much for the love and support!


	23. Chapter XXIII

**Chapter XXIII**

* * *

"Meow."

A flip to another page.

"Meow."

 _Scratch, scratch, scratch_ against his pant leg.

"Meow?"

Finally, Chrollo looks up from his book and blinks at the small feline scratching against his shoe. It pounces on his foot and tries to scramble upwards to his lap, but the kitten slips and tumbles back to the floor like a ball of black yarn. The kitten, seemingly irritated, hisses at him.

He sighs and proceeds to ignore the little thing. "Leave me alone."

Pairo, as what Valtiel insisted to call him, mewls and ascends his leg again.

The name makes his blood boil. He could think of many creative ways to kill this little critter. Break his neck like a toothpick. Make it look like an accident. No one would know.

No one but Valtiel.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't be too easy to fool her now.

"You are a little stubborn one, aren't you?" Exasperated, Chrollo picks up the kitten by the skin of his neck and settles him down on the mattress with him. The kitten sniffs at his hand and meows louder. His eyebrow arcs slightly. "Has your mother forgotten to feed you again?"

It has been an inside joke between them that they are husband and wife, and that the little bundle of black fur and maroon eyes is their son.

Chrollo finds it ironic; he knows that perhaps one day, Valtiel may become a mother and have children of her own, but he would not, certainly not him. A home and a family are last in the priorities of a Class-A thief. Still, he is so amused that he plays along, acting the part assigned to him like a dutiful student.

The kitten pounces on his lap and curls his tail around himself. He meows again.

"She did, didn't she?" It is not the first time Valtiel has forgotten to care for her pet. She is very much occupied in refining whatever ability she conjured that even little Pairo is ignored, prompting Chrollo himself to clean after the thing and feed it. "Fine, then," he says, sighing, and picks up the cat.

"Val?" he calls out to the living room. Valtiel is seated before the ebony clock again, surrounding herself with a calm Ren. Pairo squirms in his arms and Chrollo shakes his head, slips in and out of the kitchen, and returns to the bedroom with a bottle of milk in his other hand.

 _This is ridiculous_ , he berates himself as he offers the bottle to Pairo. The panther cub eagerly laps at the milk, two small paws on the sides of the bottle. Chrollo leans back against the headboard, cradling the kitten in his left arm while his right reaches out for his book. He starts reading again and ignores whether the kitten is satisfied in his milk or not.

Outside, another rain starts to pour. It would seem that the rainy season has begun in this side of the world. He welcomes the perfect weather for coffee, books, and candlelight. He has in mind to light a few scented candles on his bedside table, though the impending idea of Pairo knocking down the candles and starting a house fire stops him from fetching his candles.

After a moment of silence, Chrollo peers down on the cat and finds him curled up again on his navel.

 _How troublesome._ He shifts ever so slightly, careful not to disturb his slumber. He sets his book down and focuses on the small thing, wondering how something so small could be so aggressive and demanding. _It's so quiet._ The combination of the rain's pitter-patter and the kitten's soft purring lulls him to sleep.

The clock strikes eight in the evening. Valtiel releases her Ren and uses Zetsu instead, trying to recover from the little fatigue she still suffers from using damned Ren. She looks around the living room and expects to see Pairo in the cat tree Chrollo has stolen from a pet shop earlier this morning. To her surprise, there are no signs of the cat, and she stands and enters the bedroom.

"Danchou?"

Her surprise doubles to see Chrollo leaning on the headboard and on a plethora of pillows. His chin rests on the heel of his palm, his face turned to the side and his raven bangs covering half of his face. His mouth is open a little for soft, even breathing. A book lies open over his sternum.

Valtiel bends forward and leans close, finding him rather cute like this−when he is not smirking or plotting another heist behind a charming smile. She smiles then, brushing his bangs away from his serene face.

A soft mewl sounds from below. Pairo looks up at her, all round maroon eyes, and blinks.

She giggles and presses a finger over her lips. "Come," she whispers. "Let's not disturb Danchou." She takes the kitten and cradles him in her arms.

They return to the dim living room where a lone orange lamp shines from the corner. She sets Pairo on the carpet next to her and smooths down his velvety fur.

The kitten nips at her fingertips and yawns. "It's no time to sleep," she tells him, still whispering. "Now is not our time at all."

* * *

By the end of October, her Hatsu is finished.

Not as refined as she wants, but _finished_. That's what matters.

With little to no persuasion, Valtiel invites Chrollo out for a walk downtown. Despite his misgivings, since it is such a grey and damp later afternoon with an overcast sky, he dons his dark blue jacket and white scarf, and then follows her outside the house. Some of the neighbors are coming home from shopping, and so the alleged couple slip their hands together as they walk.

At the square, a few townspeople have gathered to watch a child puppeteer's performance. She is a small girl, perhaps around Warren's age, with curly brown hair and eyes. The couple admires her performance until she finishes; Valtiel offers her a bill for her show while Chrollo waits behind with his hands in his pocket.

"So, what are we doing here?" They sit again on their usual bench, open to the grey skies. A low thunder rumbles from a distance, and he is nowhere looking forward to get himself soaked.

"I have a surprise for you," she says, exultant.

"Oh?" He returns her bright smile, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. A cold wind blows around them, stirring his long hair and her dark green skirts. "What can you have in store for me?"

"I'll show you," she urges him. "Stay here, okay?"

He watches fondly as she rises from the bench and crosses the expanse of the square, stopping at the middle with the White Tower as her background.

Numerous people are passing by her without much thought of a young woman in an exuberant mood and buried in a thick white scarf. Across the field, the Danchou leans back on the bench and smiles, indulging her cheerful mood.

Above them, the rain starts to pour.

On cue, the townspeople gasp and panic. All are running in separate directions, desperate to search for shelter. Even Chrollo flinches under the rain's assault, but he does as he is bid; he stays on his seat and lets the rain soak him from head to toe, his hair plastered on the sides of his face.

Valtiel heaves a deep breath and concentrates on the ability she has long distressed to master. Her aura surrounds her like a steam under the rain. Then it pulses and turns into a deep shade of gold, and then−slowly−takes the form of a large sphere emitted from her body. The sphere continues to expand across the field, engulfing the townspeople still in search for shelters. Like men in a dream, their movements slow, exaggeratedly so, that Chrollo could see every little movement of their feet and even their clothes, fluttering sluggishly under the influence of Valtiel's aura.

Then his critical gaze is back on her, noting that she moves normally than the rest of the crowd. The golden sphere stops extending and everything trapped within moves so slow that it reminds him of watching a movie in slow motion. The rain that falls into the sphere, he also observes, is not influenced−continuously pounding down on the field, undisturbed.

The sphere dissolves, the people within resume their running.

Quick. Lithe. Normal again.

She gasps and shakes her head, burying her face in her hands as she tries to regain her composure. Migraine starts blooming behind her eyes, her vision swimming nauseously.

"Val." Chrollo joins her at the center, searching for her face. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." She pants and groans from the nausea. The water is on her eyes, the Danchou's face blurry in her sight. A chuckle slips from her when she realizes his damp, disheveled appearance. "You okay?"

"I am, though it has been a while since I stood under a rain." He shrugs off his jacket and places it over their heads for protection. "Would you tell me what was that all about?"

"How about you guess?" She shivers and tugs the jacket closer.

"Perhaps I will." He ponders for a moment, choosing his words, and then whispers them in her ear. His explanation is quick and concise, and when he leans back to study her face, she flushes bright red and he knows for sure that he has guessed right.

He chuckles then, proud of himself and of her. "Still, it is a clever idea," he praises her and pulls her against the length of his body.

Valtiel nestles close, only to bask in his warmth.

His lips press against her hair, and then travel downwards to her temple and ear. "My clever girl," he murmurs in a low, rapturing tone. "My clever, clever girl."

But when someone steps in his line of sight, Chrollo flinches and immediately disentangles himself from Valtiel. There, on the other side of the square, is a familiar face.

"Paku," he whispers.

Pakunoda takes a reluctant step forward.

"Danchou," she returns, her voice warm yet suspicious. She wears an elegant camel coat with a black inner shirt and leggings, paired with knee-high boots. Her blonde hair is longer, going past her shoulders. She carries a purple umbrella over her head. Her brown eyes dart from her leader to the Kurta girl in his arms. She musters another smile.

"And Valtiel, of course."

The younger woman beams at once. "Paku-san! This is a surprise! What are you doing here?"

"Danchou asked for my assistance in a side mission," Pakunoda answers, not missing the second when Chrollo steps away from the Kurta and dons his cold face again. She decides to let that pass−for now.

"I did not know anything about a mission." Valtiel turns to Chrollo for answers.

"I have no intentions of involving you," he says. "The mission is for Paku and myself, though if you wish to watch, I can grant you that."

She wrinkles her nose and holds up a hand. "No, thank you. You both enjoy your mission."

He nods and turns to his friend. "So, Paku, shall we discuss the details of the mission? We have a base for the time being. It should fit for the three of us."

"Of course." Pakunoda holds up her umbrella for the pair, but Chrollo brushes it off and leads the way back home, still under his jacket against the pouring rain.

"This would be fun," Valtiel whispers to Paku as they walk side-by-side. "How are the other Spiders?"

"Still the same." Pakunoda's voice grows cold, though she does smile at the Kurta. "Still idiots."

They do not speak again as they reach the house. Chrollo fetches the keys and fumbles with the door.

When it opens, a massive blur of black hurls itself into his arms. He grunts and sighs, almost forgetting the fact that they have a 40-pound black panther cub living with them. Pairo has grown from a little rascal to a thundering whirlwind, sleek and lithe yet as big as a police dog.

The almost two-month-old feline growls as he sniffs at Chrollo's damp hair and collar, as if searching for hidden treats. When he finds nothing, he growls yet again and bombards the man with little nips along the jaw and shoulder, his long and sharp claws digging into the flesh of his forearms.

Valtiel emerges behind Chrollo and coos at her kitten. "That's bad manners, Pairo," she scolds and nuzzles her nose against the black fur. The kitten purrs and licks at her nose and mouth, making her laugh.

Confused yet interested, Pakunoda steps into the panther's sight.

Almost at once, Pairo's ears flatten to the back of his head and he hisses, menacing and full of threat. He struggles against Chrollo's hold and slashes sharp claws towards Paku, but the Spider leader whisks him away in time. The kitten yowls and takes his frustration out by biting at Chrollo's shoulder.

"Bad," the man says, scolding him. "Very bad, Pairo."

The panther seems to understand the harsh reprimand. He pounces out of Chrollo's arms, rubs his shiny black coat on Valtiel's legs, and hisses once at Pakunoda's direction−before disappearing into the bedroom.

Pakunoda laughs. "He's so cute."

"He's a bad cat," Chrollo grumbles, uncomprehending why his friend should find him so entertaining. "With bad manners, like Val." He tosses his damp jacket and stands at the threshold of the bathroom. "Make yourself comfortable, Paku. This is your home, too." And he shuts the bathroom door.

"Really, he should have told me you were coming." Valtiel, still damp from the downpour, paces back and forth from the living room to the kitchen. She tugs at the loose ends of her ponytail. "There's no proper food in the fridge and Pairo already finished this afternoon's lunch! Danchou! You should have told me someone's coming! I could have prepared a proper meal or two!"

"I'm fine," Paku muses, very polite. She sits on the couch and admires the domesticated lifestyle, from the vintage paintings on the walls, the fireplace with several vases and music boxes on top, and even the great ebony clock beside it. For someone either used to Meteor City's lodgings to a five-star hotel's king suite, this is truly a new sight for her. She wonders what the other Spiders might think.

Across from her, the Kurta is still worrying that Paku laughs to ease her anxiety. "I am fine, really, Val," she promises. "I just came from an afternoon snack at the airport. And dinner is still a few hours away."

"But what will we have for dinner?" Valtiel exclaims, ashamed to treat their guest without proper hospitality.

"We can order something from a restaurant," the Spider suggests.

"I suppose," Valtiel murmurs. It has been a while since she and Chrollo dined outside, the last time being out of town and him flirting with Nicola throughout the entire dinner. She has made sure over the months that she would not agree for another dinner if the Danchou plans to entertain someone else again.

"Where'd he come from?" Paku points a finger to where Pairo is stalking them behind the couch.

"Oh, Danchou stole him from somewhere." She frowns at the memory of it, but still grateful that he brought the kitten to her. "I needed something alive to practice my Nen ability with. You could say that Pairo here is my partner."

"I see." But she does not see, not really. Pakunoda could not imagine a universe where Chrollo Lucilfer steals a black kitten for the sake of one woman, who is his own plaything. The idea is laughable at best: a plaything for a plaything. Surely, the Danchou is amusing himself by doing such.

Valtiel sits cross-legged on the floor and Pairo curls up on her lap. She strokes the shiny coat, making the feline purr, its maroon eyes closed in contentment.

"How is your Nen training? Feitan told me you were making good progress."

"He did?" Her face lights up, never expecting in a hundred years that Feitan would compliment her.

"Though he says you still need a spine to actually fight people," Paku adds.

Her shoulders drop in defeat. _Foolish. Of course, Fei-san would not compliment me._ Then she faces the Spider again and tries to smile. "It is good to hear from him. He did teach me some techniques and supervised my training session with a monk for two months. It had been fun."

"Fun to train with Feitan?" Paku sounds incredulous.

Valtiel grins, and Pairo blinks maroon eyes at her. "Not entirely with Fei-san, but it was nice to have someone else around. It has only been Danchou and me for months. I'd be damned if I would not recognize his face or voice anytime, anywhere." She trails it off with another laugh, though this one is weak and shallow, uncertain even.

Then, Chrollo appears from the doorway and gives her a sudden sharp look. However, his voice is still low and quiet when he says, "It's your turn, Val," before heading towards the bedroom. Pairo rises and ambles next to him, and slips into the room as Chrollo is closing the door.

That night, they dine on Pakunoda's cooking: smoked meat with beans and pickles, a vegetable paste of eggplants, peppers, and onions, meatballs mixed with garlic and spices, and a beef soup to complement the rainy weather.

They are very much like a family when they are seated together at the table, sharing the food and sharing stories, though it is mostly Pakunoda and Valtiel speaking while Chrollo falls into his usual quiet self. He agrees to some statements, adds some comments, and then lapses to his own world again, forgetting his half-finished meal.

After dinner finds the three of them in the living room, warmed by the fire in the hearth. Chrollo is on the long couch, one arm stroking along Pairo's coat as the panther stretches and sways his tail in satisfaction. Across from him, Valtiel is seated on the floor, back turned to Paku, as the older woman brushes her long platinum-blonde hair down her back.

In this comfortable silence, Pakunoda starts her inquiry. "Where did you get Pairo's name?"

Chrollo, pleasantly quiet, glances from the ancient bible and dictionary in his hands.

"I thought it was fitting," Valtiel whispers, eyes on the red-orange flames. The lurch of the flames mesmerizes her, enchants her. "I remember a language used, like Norden or Tongusic. I figured ' _pairo'_ would suit a black panther, for it means ' _starlight'_ , you know."

"Yes, it does fit him." Brown eyes search for Chrollo's grey ones. They exchange suspicious looks, and the latter nods. Pakunoda keeps brushing the hair. "I dind't know you have a knack for languages. How is it that you know so many, Val?"

Valtiel hesitates, shaking her head, the silky strands of her hair slipping from Paku's fingers. "I don't know," she murmurs softly, lost from her inquiry. "I remember other tongues because I've come across them several times… but I have never once crossed a text written in Kurta before…"

Again, the exchanged glances. The shadows in the room make Chrollo's face darker, more foreboding. Pakunoda pities the Kurta girl, whose next answer would decide whether she lives or dies.

"Though I might have encountered it back in Meteor City," Valtiel continues, oblivious to the tension around her. She gestures with her hand and Pairo answers her call, leaving Chrollo and joining her on the carpet. She smiles as she lets the panther cub lick at her palm. "I quite remember Shalnark-san's collection of books back home. Fei-san has some art books, too, right? It must have been from one of them; I really could not think of any more connections to the Kurta than books and the Scarlet Eyes."

"Scarlet Eyes?" Pakunoda's fingers tense from braiding the hair.

"Why, yes." Valtiel turns with her bright eyes gleaming under the influence of the flames.

Instead of the usual gold, it appears as if the gold and the orange flames have mixed to create an iridescent scarlet. She blinks at the female Spider, cocking her head to the side.

"Is that not why the Phantom Troupe raided the Kurta Clan, for their Scarlet Eyes?" Valtiel shrugs and goes back to staring at the hearth. "I could imagine myself assisting you guys to locate the clan's whereabouts; they were reclusive, weren't they?"

"You did help us," Pakunoda lies, unable to think of any other excuses. She searches for Danchou's approval, and he gives her another silent nod. With his permission, she adds lie after lie: "Shalnark had troubles understanding the map from the Hunter Website, so he asked you to translate the words and thus helped us track them down."

"I imagine it went that way," Valtiel agrees. "And then I had an accident on a cliff."

"Lost your memories, but you have them back now." Pakunoda weaves a purple silk ribbon with the hair and finishes with a fishtail braid. She lets it over Valtiel's right shoulder and smiles kindly at her. "Your memories are very precious, Val. I am happy you remember not only the Troupe, but also your past in Meteor City. Your grandfather must be proud."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Like parents to a daughter, Chrollo and Pakunoda stay up until Valtiel is fast asleep on the bed. Pairo jumps next to her and nestles amongst the pillows, his large head over the woman's shoulder, his tail swaying back and forth over her legs. Her first display of Hatsu and her continuous interaction with Paku must have drained her so much that she has no time removing her scarf and shoes. Chrollo does it for her−attentive as always−while Paku leans on the doorframe and watches the scene unfold with earnest curiosity.

He finishes and closes the door. He leads her back to the living room and sips from his coffee. "So?"

Pakunoda weighs her words carefully. One wrong word could disappoint him. "She's in excellent condition," she answers, as if answering to an inquiry after a horse in a stable. "I interrogated her as thoroughly as I can, without arousing suspicion, and her memories are pure."

"Please don't mince words with me," he says in a silent warning.

She flutters long lashes at him. "I mean to say that she still has no memories of her _real_ past. Everything she remembers is nothing but our childhood and Meteor City. When she mentioned about the Kurta Clan, her memories show books and maps, not her forest home or friends. And the mention of Pairo−" She purses her lips−"Val's memories show only stars and midnight skies. No more, no less."

He sips his coffee again, lips pressed against the rim. "So you are telling me that she remembers the language by itself, not the person associated with the term?" he asks, and she nods. "If I ask her to translate a text written in Kurta, would you assure me that she remembers nothing but the linguistics, and not the culture into which she was born and raised?"

"Memories are a complex thing, Danchou," she explains. Who knows better about memories than Pakunoda herself? She has lived a life toying with people's memories, extracting them without their consent for her benefit. For the Troupe's benefit. She would be lying if she said she did not enjoy the thrill of it.

"In retrograde amnesia, the only ones affected are the individual's memories. As such, their natural talents−singing, painting, fighting−would remain untouched, though their approach to these talents might be somehow affected depending on the individual's personality.

I could see that your indulging Valtiel in reading extensive books triggers her mind to remember a certain event in her past when she could understand these languages. That, and partnered with the Desaran monk's Nen ability, it further blends the memories in her mind. I understand that you might be a little anxious, but there's nothing to worry about. Her memories are still yours to manipulate."

Chrollo sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "That's a relief," he says.

"Is that why you asked me to come here? To check on her?"

"By all means, no." He gives her a small smile. "I have in mind to steal something. You and Val would help me accomplish it."

* * *

Valtiel blinks at her reflection on the mirror. She brings the tips of her hair forward and muses how short it has become, allowing Pakunoda to trim her and Chrollo's hairs to suit their mission tonight. Now, the platinum-blonde hair that once brushed her waist falls to the middle of her back. Paku has dressed her hair to an up-do, pinned to the side with a small diamond hairpin.

Seated on his haunches, Pairo stares up at her appearance and yawns.

"Not very impressed, are you?" She laughs, turning away from the mirror with a swish of her navy blue evening gown. She has a pair of silver diamonds on her ears, and another glittering bracelet of diamond around her left wrist. "Well, this is only for tonight," she assures him, but also to assure herself.

"We're finished." Pakunoda emerges from the bathroom where she and Chrollo have been closeted for half an hour. She wears a low cut burgundy gown with a slit on the skirt, hiked up almost to her hip. Her ample breasts are pressed atop of the gown, invitingly so. Her short blonde hair is pulled up into a simple bun, with her bangs framing the sides of her face.

Paku smiles at her, and, like a mother, fusses over the younger woman's gown. She tugs at Valtiel's top, pushing it ever lower, and then tightens the laces from behind so that the curve of her breasts shows.

Horrified, Valtiel pulls the fabric higher and tucking her skin out of sight. "It's fine like this."

The Spider shakes her head. "It has to be lower, Val," she says in a kind voice. "It's not as alluring if you do not show enough skin. It's a party, not a funeral." She chuckles when the young woman wrinkles her nose. Clearly, she is unconvinced. Whatever else does Paku have to do to persuade her?

And then there is Chrollo Lucilfer himself in an all black ensemble. His raven hair is trimmed, neat and complimenting his youthful face. Somehow, the shorter haircut makes him look younger than his twenty-one years. He adjusts the black necktie over his black shirt, dusts off his black sleeve.

Valtiel makes a face at him. "I thought you said it's not a funeral."

"It would be a funeral once we finished killing everyone," Chrollo teases. He nods at their appearances, but then notices that the two women are in the middle of a disagreement. "Is there something wrong?"

"She wouldn't want her top lower," Paku says, a little defeated.

"Would you now?" Dark eyes gleam at Valtiel. She shrinks back from his obvious mirth. His sight rake over Valtiel's gown and exposed skin, nodding again like reviewing a horse on sale, and turns to Paku. "I think she's fine as she is. Better to have you two look different from each other, so Fujiwara can take his pick."

"As you say." Paku withdraws her hands from the Kurta and makes one last adjustment to her gown. She slips a golden bracelet while Chrollo shrugs on his black dinner jacket.

They are walking towards the door when Pairo meows and scratches against the nearest furniture.

Chrollo glances at the black kitten. "Stay," he says, as if commanding a dog. Pairo's maroon eyes stare up at him in wonder, and then he stretches across the carpet and purrs. Chrollo nods. "Very good."

The plan is simple, though Valtiel still worries about the execution. A certain Fujiwara is a patron of Treasure Hunters who is hosting an evening gala tonight in his summer house, built on the edge of a cliff and overlooks a wide lake. Chrollo managed to acquire invitations for the three of them, all different names; it is surprising for Valtiel that they are not posing as a couple tonight. Instead, they are in their own, flowing where Fujiwara's interest would go.

The night is cold and the air carries a heady scent of flowers that are in still blossom for the autumn season. Several limousines are already parked at the mansion's front, each more extravagant than the last. Pakunoda is first to arrive, all long legs and unblemished porcelain skin. She is a tall woman, even taller than Chrollo, and she uses that advantage to immediately attract the attention of several men. It works wonders: by the time she enters through the main entrance, she has a flock of men's eyes following her smooth movements.

Valtiel comes next, emerging from the limousine, clutching at her blue skirts. The evening chill makes her shiver, sending goosebumps across her exposed back and arms. A steward steps forward to assist her, and she smiles, accepts his hand, and enters the mansion.

Once he has confirmed his companion's safe entry, Chrollo waits another ten minutes before exiting himself. Unlike Paku, his appearance does not garner attention from the men, though as he pushes further inside and steps into the ballroom, the women giggle and whisper behind their gloved hands.

He smiles at each of them, not interested at the least, and takes himself on the second floor where he could watch the party from above. He spots Pakunoda conversing with a man, clinking wineglasses with him. On the far side of the room, there is Valtiel with another man. He presses his lips into a thin line and says nothing.

The plan is simple: attract Fujiwara with either of the two ladies, though it is much more convenient for them if he goes after Pakunoda, whose experience with men is precise. Fujiwara is supposed to be seduced, take Paku to his quarters, where she could interrogate him about the whereabouts of the treasure.

The plan is indeed very simple, but when Fujiwara himself makes a grand entrance on the other side of the room, perhaps it is not so simple any longer.

Ryuhei Fujiwara is a tall, handsome young man, with pale blond hair and striking green eyes. He wears a white suit with an ascot tie, pinned to his throat by a glimmering emerald. He enters alone and strides gracefully to the dancefloor, where he smiles and laughs upon seeing old acquaintances.

Chrollo rolls his eyes at the other man's flaunting and searches for Pakunoda in the crowd.

As expected of a Spider, Pakunoda glides across the ballroom and makes her way towards Fujiwara. Her movements are slow and sensual, attracting more eyes, drawn to the swell of her breasts and the exposed skin of her left thigh. She takes a wineglass and takes a sip, calculating Fujiwara's descent as he plunges deeper into the crowd.

"My, my…" Fujiwara croons at Paku, green eyes flitting from her burgundy gown and dark blonde hair. He taps his chin, reminding Paku of their Danchou when he finds something beautiful. "Who do we have here?"

"Hilde Drewanz, Fujiwara-sama." She bobs him a little curtsy, leaning forward so that Ryuhei could see the tempting curve of her breasts. Behind a charming smile, she thinks of gouging his eyes from their sockets, for staring at her. She glows at the idea, excited even.

"You know my name?" he asks, surprised. Then smirks. "You asked someone about me?"

"It is not at all subtle, I know," Paku murmurs, her long lashes sweeping her cheeks.

Ryuhei steps forward and lifts her chin with an index finger. "You are very pretty."

"You flatter me, sir."

"Shall we dance, my lady?"

"I would be honored, Fujiwara-sama." She takes his hand and feigns another smile when he laughs and urges her to call him by name. "It would be disrespectful," she says. "You are a respected individual after all."

"True," Ryuhei agrees, not at all humble.

A music starts and fills the entire ballroom. Ryuhei and Pakunoda are locked in their own world, hand-clasped, bodies so close together. He is an excellent dancer, and she follows his lead with calculated movements. Her hand in his allows her Nen ability to see through his latest memories, and it quite disgusts her to know that this young man has been with another woman moments before he stepped into the ballroom. She just wishes he would simply take her to his quarters, steal his treasure, and be on her merry way with Danchou and the Kurta in their cozy little house.

As the music ends, Ryuhei slows to a stop. Suddenly, his eyes are not on Pakunoda anymore. He looks far behind her, to the corner of the room−to a lone young woman standing by the open window and admiring the pristine lake behind the house.

"Excuse me." He sidesteps Paku and crosses the room.

Chrollo could see his hurried movements as Ryuhei shoulders the other guests to get to his Kurta. Glowering, he finds Paku and meets her own scowl.

The target is not cooperating.

With a little nod, Chrollo turns for the staircase to join Paku on the floor.

Valtiel has been admiring the way the lake shimmers under the moonlight, when she feels someone's presence pressing through the crowd. Through the reflection, she sees a young man in a stark white suit approach her. She frowns and braces herself for an idle conversation; this is their target; if he is not with Pakunoda, then it is better for him to be with Valtiel, rather than with another woman.

She rounds towards him, a smile in place. "Good evening, sir."

Ryuhei strides to her with cunning grace. "Good evening, my lady. I see you are quite alone."

She shakes her head, the diamond in her hair catching the moonlight. "I like being alone with my thoughts."

"I have never seen you before," he notes. He leans against the glass and smiles down at her. "It seems tonight I keep meeting new faces. That is good, very good. I am elated to see so many beautiful faces."

"That is very nice for you," she says. "I could not think of any other beautiful face than the lady with the burgundy dress." She hopes that would be the end of it, reminding him of Paku and making him leave her.

Instead of leaving, the bastard chuckles and steps behind her−as what Chrollo has done so many times−and rests his chin on her right shoulder. His hand darts from his side, gently forcing her to face herself on the window, her reflection showing wide golden eyes and pale skin. Ryuhei's low chuckle against her ear sends shivers down her spine.

"There," he whispers, low and husky. "I see another beautiful face."

"Ah, the face of a nobody," she quips, sarcastic.

"No, no, not at all." Ryuhei proceeds to turn her around to face him and lifts her chin to his emerald gaze.

Across the ballroom, both Chrollo and Pakunoda are glowering. Their target is on the wrong side of the plan, glued to the wrong woman. Although Chrollo did bring Valtiel along to cater whatever Fujiwara's tastes are, it still baffles him that he should rebuke Pakunoda's advances. However, men have a wide array of tastes−he understands that−and does not hold it against Fujiwara. Still, he should be taking Paku to his quarters, not tugging at Valtiel's hand and forcing her with him.

Paku stands tall beside him, her brown eyes locked on the two figures by the window. "So, Plan B?"

Chrollo nods. "You will take Fujiwara; I will take Val. Make sure he keeps you this time."

"Roger that."

And they set into motion.

"Fujiwara-sama," Pakunoda calls out. Ryuhei blinks and chuckles, as if he has forgotten about her. "Would you take me for a tour around the house? I believe you promised me while we were dancing."

"A tour, of course." Ryuhei clears his throat and studies Paku from head to toe again. His eyes linger on the charming curve of her lips as she smirks at him.

Then he steals a glance at Valtiel, soft and petite, with a shadow of a scowl in her face. He decides that he likes Pakunoda's openness rather than Valtiel's sneering. With another laugh, he intertwines his arm with Paku's and leaves without another word.

Once the pair disappears behind a door, Valtiel relaxes and thumps her head on the glass.

"Stressed?" Chrollo walks over to her, eyes lingering to where Paku disappeared.

"Try _dis_ tressed," she snaps at him, and he laughs. "He is supposed to approach only Paku-san."

"Well, you caught his attention." He stands in front of her, shielding her from the other stares from the male guests. He believes they are betting who gets to approach her first, like the gambling snakes that they are. One particular guest keeps such a lewd stare that Chrollo has in mind to shove his dessert fork down his throat for a well-deserved lesson. That can wait−for now.

"What should we do now?" She tilts her head to the side. She is in an elegant gown; he is in his all-black ensemble. Though it would be a waste of fine clothes, she hopes they can go home soon.

"How about a dance?"

"How about no?"

He shoots her a quick indignant look. "Fool," he mumbles.

She rolls her eyes at him and observes the dancing crowd. "Do you think Paku-san would be all right? Fujiwara-sama seems like a total halfwit, falling for such advances, but he has the looks and the money."

"You find him good-looking?"

"He has lovely eyes," she answers, honest to the core. "I can see why many women would desire him."

"And you don't?" He raises an eyebrow.

"He's a halfwit," she reiterates. "Falling for a lame tease."

"Men are easier to persuade when they are half-delirious with desire," Chrollo explains. "Easier to manipulate, especially for women. I brought you and Paku to test his tastes: Paku for sensual beauty and charm and you for−" He pauses, bites his tongue, and shakes his head−"for innocence and softness." He clears his throat, glancing down on her face. "You did well. You almost caught him for yourself."

Valtiel shudders. "I can't decide which one is worse: to be chosen or to be left behind."

He chuckles and weaves an arm around her waist. His hand settles on her hip. "If Fujiwara had chosen you, then he finds you more attractive. If you are left behind, then you stay with my pleasant company and me. I think the compliment goes both ways, no?"

She sighs. "Perhaps. I would rather stay behind than suffer his advances. Thank goodness Paku-san is more beautiful," she says dreamily.

"Perhaps," Chrollo mumbles.

* * *

It is almost morning, when Valtiel wakes up in Chrollo's arms. She opens her eyes in time to see and feel him gently laying her down the bed. She must have fallen asleep from waiting for Pakunoda to return from her trip to Fujiwara's quarters.

Slack on the mattress, she feels Chrollo remove her high heels and remove the ornate hairpin in her hair, releasing the thick tumble of silver-gold across the pillows. Then she feels warm lips on her forehead, and the gentle pull of a blanket over her body. In her sleepy vision, Pairo jumps up to the bed and joins her, his low purring lulling her back to sleep.

She wakes again when the clock strikes. Pairo is bombarding her with eager licks on the eyes and mouth, and she pushes him away with a laugh. She sits up on the bed, finding herself in a soft nightdress, as the panther cub mewls and sniffs at her hand.

"Hungry?"

Pairo yowls.

"Food it is." She rises from the bed and heads outside, where she sees Chrollo and Pakunoda sharing breakfast at the small table. She smiles at them, the early morning sunlight in her face. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Chrollo murmurs behind his coffee mug.

"Come. Sit." Pakunoda clears a space for her and prepares a new set of plate and silverware. "I prepared scrambled egg with grilled mushrooms and a garlic sauce. It's Yuan's favorite dish."

Valtiel joins them at the table and hums at the delicious breakfast. She loves Pakunoda's cooking. If only Paku could stay with them from now on.

As she eats, she notices a large golden head sitting on top of the fireplace. It is a head of a monkey, solid gold, with wide eyes and open mouth.

Pairo arrives in the living room, playing with a pair of round rubies.

"What is this?" Nervous, Valtiel goes to the monkey head and pales. It has two green eyes.

"The Monkey King," the Danchou answers in his gentle voice. "Unearthed by Fujiwara's Treasure Hunters from the ruins in western Kakazan. Claimed to be the emperor's most favorite possession due to its solid gold head and ruby eyes that are said to make humans mad with greed. Pairo seems to enjoy them."

The panther cub bites down on one ruby, while his big paw claws at the second.

She gulps, pointing an index finger on the eyes lodged into the monkey's head, the golden rim stained with dark dried blood. "And these eyes are…?"

Chrollo smiles sweetly. "Ryuhei Fujiwara's eyes. I seem to recall you telling me he has lovely eyes."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Oof! Sooooo sorry for the extremely late update! I have had this chapter made for already so long, but the combination of work and stress and laziness to edit the chapter took me an entire month! Thank you all so very much for your patience! I can't imagine how patient you guys are while awaiting for an update!

We've got Chrollo and Valtiel with Pakunoda this time 'round. A side mission, a bit of fluff, and another dose of Chrollo's bitter scheming at their finest. I thoroughly enjoyed writing Pairo the Cub. Just imagining Chrollo babysitting a kitten makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. I'm glad this handsome bastard hasn't made any efforts harming this kitten just because of his name... because let's face it. Chrollo is THAT kind of person to kill willy-nilly.

I'm 2 hours away from packing my stuff and leaving for a vacation to the beach... so I'm sad to say that I wouldn't be able to answer everyone's reviews from the last chapter. It's been a whirlwind of a month and now I'm supposed to be going on a 9-hour trip to the beach! Still, I'll be thinking of all of you guys while I am in vacation! I'll be certainly looking forward to your reviews to light up my vacation even more!

Many, many special thanks to: **Amy, xenocanaan, HuangShaotian0005, Mia Mena, ChroVal, Coolfire30, Eric, Donchta, SuperLllou, AwkwardBlackCat,** **and PLEASE UPDATE**. Thank you all for the reviews, and thank you to everyone who keeps reading this story.


	24. Chapter XXIV

_**Warning: This chapter is not for the faint of heart. You have been warned...**_

* * *

 **Chapter XXIV**

Pakunoda stays for three more days, before taking the Monkey King's head to sell it to a black market somewhere. The Danchou gives his consent for her to take it, not at all concerned of the treasure as much as he did with the others. The ruby eyes stay with them, however, becoming Pairo's favorite toys.

"I wonder where he has gone again," Valtiel muses to herself two days later, when she wakes without Chrollo again anywhere in the house.

His habit of appearing and disappearing has become a nuisance for: one, she is always caught unawares; two, she never knows when he would be back and therefore could not decide whether to prepare a meal for only herself or for them both.

She really does wish he would at least send her a message or two, now that she has a phone of her own, which buzzes once in a blue moon when Shalnark sends prank texts or whenever Nobunaga sends a message to the wrong person.

This morning, she received an uplifting message from Omokage, bidding her good morning and asking about her well-being. At least the puppeteer has some sense to ask for her, rather than the Danchou who could be anywhere in the world right now.

It is another cold afternoon, and the stillness that goes along with it bores her. She rises from her sitting position on the carpet and grabs her coat. Her stomach growls, and there is nothing else left in the fridge but Paku's leftover cooking from yesterday.

Her feet take her anywhere in the small town, passing by ancient shops and small bookstores. She has in mind to buy something light to eat, probably on her usual spot in the town square. The skies are grey and the winds cold−perfect for a hot chocolate drink.

Yet on her way to the café, she bumps with a certain photographer.

"Ah, Miss Eleison!" Kieran waves her over. He crosses the road and dodges a few cars passing by to get to her. He wears a denim jacket over a flannel shirt. His black camera is slung around his neck. "I was just about to go to your house. Good thing I bumped into you here."

"Did you need something?" She is wary in his presence now, aware that Chrollo once threatened to kill this young man and his family for doing nothing but talk.

"There's something I want to give you," he says, looking around the quiet street. "It's surprising that you're alone outside." He laughs. "You're always with Mister Eleison. He's out of town?"

"Oh, yes." She nods, a bit sheepish. "My, uh, _husband_ … He always has business out of town…"

"Then can I interest you for a cup of coffee? Nothing malicious, of course!" He shakes his head wildly and waves his hands in the air. "You are a married woman after all! My friend recently opened a small shop and I'd like to take you there. Maybe we can even get a discount for the drinks."

She laughs, easing his nervousness. It seems both of them are wary of each other's presence. "That sounds lovely," she says. "I'd like to see it."

Kieran leads her down the street, walking in pace with her. He chatters about his latest project, which has him over the sea for a one-week trip. On the way to the café, he shows her the photos he had taken of various sceneries and ethnic groups, their lush farmlands and cattle, children in colorful woven clothes playing by the river. By the time they arrive, he finishes his story and promises to continue once they are settled with their orders.

There are only few people inside. A middle-aged man stands behind the counter to take everyone's orders. He beams and waves Kieran over, wonders if Valtiel is his newest girlfriend−which Kieran immediately denies. Valtiel giggles, trying to hide her growing anxiety, and the man introduces himself as Bolton. He offers them free drinks and the pair comes away to their seats, smiling and grateful.

Valtiel hums when her chocolate iced coffee arrives, despite the cold weather. Bolton offers her glazed donuts to go along with her drink, while Kieran is satisfied with his latte. "Thank you for this," she tells him.

"Bah. It's nothing." He grins and fumbles with the satchel he's carrying. "You can say it is a thank you for your cooperation more than two months ago. When I took photos of you, remember?"

"Oh, yes." Her lips press into a thin line. It was the same day Chrollo threatened his life.

"Well, the magazine was just published last week and I wanted to give you a copy as thanks." He produces a brown envelope and pulls out a thin magazine.

He flips to the page where Valtiel's photo is; she stands alone, with the sun in her face and the yellow of her dress making her appear brighter. The dark blue of the lake and the green grass blend into one good shot.

"My professor gave me the highest grade for this."

"That's a relief." Really, it is. Fancy having your photo taken only for the professor to bluff it? She would have been ashamed and locked herself inside the house for weeks.

"I also developed all the shots I have of you and Mister Eleison." From the envelope, he produces a transparent plastic with book-sized photos of herself and Chrollo. "Don't worry," Kieran says. "There's a collection of sizes, so you have each shot coming with a wallet size photo."

She nods and reviews them. This is the first time she sees herself in a photo, with Chrollo no less. Smiling wider, she thanks Kieran and keeps the envelope, magazine and all.

"So, what business does Mister Eleison do anyway?" he muses.

"Oh, he's−" She nips her lower lip, devising a quick lie. "He's a businessman."

"Any particular business?" he prompts, eyebrow arced.

 _He's a thief_ , her mind screams. _A thief and a murderer, and he would have you killed if he finds us both talking about him. Perhaps he would kill me, too. Less burden for him._ She shrugs and hides half of her face with the drink. "I'm not sure. He's a very reclusive man."

Kieran blinks once, twice. "Sounds like you don't know your own husband."

She blushes a deep red and says nothing.

He flinches from his seat. "Oh! Oh, no! I didn't mean to intrude!"

"It's fine," she murmurs, glancing away. "I suppose you're right, though. I'm with a man whom I barely know. He's kind and generous but apart from that…"

Her voice quavers. She could think of nothing else that would not damn Chrollo Lucilfer to a civilian. She has been with him for a year since her accident, and though she feels grateful and attached towards him, she knows he does not feel the same _._

 _Foolish, foolish thoughts for a foolish girl._

"Perhaps you both need better communication," he suggests, shrugging. "My parents always communicate to avoid fights and misunderstandings. Plus, Dad can't stand it when Mom is angry with him."

"Is that so?" She chuckles. "Communication, yes. That sounds like a good idea."

"And maybe have date night every once in a while."

"Date night?" She has never heard of the term.

"Yeah. You know… Eating outside in fancy restaurants…"

"Oh, that." That quite reminds her of countless nights spent dining in lavish restaurants with Chrollo. It puts another soft smile in her face. "Yes, that's also lovely. Perhaps tomorrow night."

Kieran grins, mischievous. "Is tomorrow night a special night?"

She shakes her head, waving the thought away. "Not entirely, but tomorrow is indeed a special day."

That night, Chrollo returns home and finds Valtiel seated at the foot of the ebony clock. A golden sphere surrounds herself and Pairo, her ability working wonders to the panther cub, forcing slow and sluggish movements that it is almost incomprehensible to a normal person.

To someone like Chrollo, he could see each fraction of a second and each slow movement, inch by maddening inch, until the sphere dissolves as it always does. Pairo hisses at Valtiel and leaps away, pawing irritably at his eyes and head.

He raps his knuckles on the door. "I'm home, wife."

She starts, caught off-guard, and nods from her sitting position. "Welcome home."

"How is your training?" He removes his trench coat and lets it hang over the couch. He notices her own coat used, narrows his eyes a little, but says nothing. He crosses the living room and peeks at the table. A tray of glazed donuts awaits him. He munches on one. "You've been out?"

"With Kieran, yes." She studies his face, looking for any signs of hostility.

A faint shadow crosses his features, though he says nothing.

He simply nods and places a small box above the fireplace. When Valtiel stands to reach for it, he snatches it away from her grasp, holds it high above his head, and croons down on her. "It's not for tonight," he says, leaning his smug face closer.

She glares and stalks away. "For when is it then?"

"Hm? Tomorrow night?" He returns the box in its original place and reaches out for her. He is in one of his generous moods tonight, petting her like the doll he makes her feel. Not a person, but a doll. His lips press, soft and tender, on her ear. "You know what happens tomorrow, don't you?"

"It's a special occasion," she agrees. "Though I didn't expect you to look forward to it."

"I always look forward to it, whether I am alone or no." He chuckles and rubs his thumb over her cheeks, flushed from her training session with Pairo. A thin sheen of sweat glows under the orange lamp. He combs his fingers through her thick hair and rubs the tips between two fingers. "I have a surprise for you tomorrow."

"How very sweet," she mumbles.

"Perhaps by tomorrow you will find me a very good husband indeed."

She turns in his arms and weighs his steady gaze. She searches something in his eyes, a trick or a lie. As always, she drowns in his dark gaze and finds nothing. He stands so close, yet is still too faraway. She doesn't understand him, and even though she wants to, there is no telling to someone like him. She sighs in defeat−for now−and instead nestles in his warm embrace. As always, after a year, his arms come around her easily, pulling her flush against him, fitting her perfectly in his build.

"I don't doubt it," she whispers.

* * *

The next sunset, the pair is dressed in their finest−stolen−clothes. Valtiel wears a white maxi dress with roseate floral patterns, her hair pulled up in another messy chignon she has worked hard in achieving that afternoon. Chrollo wears a light purple button up polo and black pants. Beneath his polo, he is shirtless. He lets his raven hair down, swaying with the wind.

The road to the beach is painted with the red and orange of the setting sun, throwing their silhouettes dark and long behind them. Each of them carries something in their person, secret little things, that would be revealed once they reach their usual spot.

Valtiel skips as she walks, twirling when the wind blows stronger, whipping her hair and skirts. She digs her sandal-covered feet into the warm sands. Every once in a while, she would turn around and make sure Chrollo is still following behind. When he would raise an eyebrow, she would laugh and continue on her merry way.

At the other end of the beach, tall candles are burning under the shade of coconut trees. There is a large log washed onshore where the candles stand, orange flames guttering with the wind.

Valtiel pauses, not expecting such a scenery, and then it is Chrollo who is laughing, taking her hand, and leading her towards the spot. They sit on the white sands, surrounded by his scented candles, and listen to the rhythmic combination of waves, winds, and seagull cries.

"Upon your completion of your Nen training, I decided a reward is due," Chrollo starts. "You've done very well over the past few months, Val. Your progress was faster than what I would have expected, and your determination to finish training is admirable. And tonight−" The light of the sunset brightens his handsome face as he smiles−"I am proud to announce that you already graduate from Nen."

"Oh, thank you." She sighs in utmost relief. Nine months in the making, since late February to early November. She smiles earnestly at him. "I owe it all to your teaching and patience, and to Fei-san and Akamu-san. I could never ask for better teachers."

"Well, that's one thing finished." He chuckles and settles back to admire the orange sun. "There is another subject I would like to touch with you."

"Is there?" Her eyebrow raises, her voice mildly sarcastic. "What else could there be that you bring me all the way out here, with such an ambiance?" She gestures at the candles around them.

"You know exactly why I brought you here." Chrollo reaches out for her, his hand on the back of her neck, as he pulls her toward him so he could whisper in his low voice. His nose nuzzles in her hair.

He murmurs over her ear, "Happy birthday, my dearest," and kisses her hair.

She laughs against his neck. "Happy birthday as well, Danchou."

He pulls back and grins at her. "How convenient of us to share birthdays. Less hassle for the celebrations."

"True, though I'm wondering why the other Spiders are not here."

"Our celebration with them could wait. Right now, I only want you with me."

"Oh." She lowers her head to hide a blush.

"Oh?" Tearing his eyes away from the sunset, he could see her nervousness beneath a small smile. He chuckles, amused that she is not used to such treatment, and turns his entire body towards her, so that the sunset is on his right and his Kurta in front of him. He starts to reach for his pocket, and then pauses, as if a thought crosses his mind. "I have a surprise for you," he says. "Close your eyes."

Again, she raises an eyebrow, quite suspicious.

He laughs and holds her hand with his other. "Close your eyes, Val."

Nodding, she obeys and waits for his next movements.

Chrollo produces the same box from yesterday. He kisses her fingertips, then her palm, before opening her hands, palm up, towards him. He fixes the things in both wrists and tightens the straps around it. With a pleased smile, he says, "You can open them now."

She lifts her wrists to her gaze and finds two pitch-black gauntlets fastened from wrist to elbow. The leather is light and smooth, comfortable against her skin. She tries different angles and finds nothing wrong with it.

"It's your birthday gift," he says and proceeds with his proud explanation. "I had the gauntlet made by an infamous blacksmith from Azia. If you check here−" He points at the ring looped around her middle finger−"this is connected to a mechanism hidden inside the gauntlet. If you extend your finger and flick your wrist like so−" He guides her hand and flicks her wrist away from him−"you will see a hidden blade extending towards an enemy. This, along with Feitan's claws, should help you dispose of enemies."

"Wow," she breathes, incredulous. She glances at Chrollo and sees his beaming face−like a proud little boy. The sight would have been endearing, and his consideration of giving her a birthday gift would have been pleasant, if only he did not think of weapons and killing enemies on the same page. She is grateful still, and flicks her other wrist to send a second blade flashing like lightning.

"And the blade is poisonous," he adds, still beaming.

"You really put a lot of mind into this, didn't you?" she asks dryly.

"Not at all." He grins and motions for the needlepoint blades. "If you use Gyo, you could see the thin aura that produces the toxin. It is one of Benny Delon's works. Nobunaga and I are fans of his."

"You incorporated a dead man's knife with a gauntlet? Very creative."

"Do you like it?"

His enthusiasm about the matter is indeed very endearing that it makes her smile. "I love it."

"I am glad to hear that, but you should put it away for now." He helps her remove the straps and slips the gauntlets from her wrists. He returns them into the box and offers it to her. On his right, the reddening horizon swallows the setting sun, casting longer shadows about them.

"I have a gift for you, too," she says.

"For me? I should be honored to receive something from you," he croons.

"So close your eyes and don't peek, Danchou."

And so he does, and Valtiel pulls something from her skirt pocket and arranges Chrollo's hands, so that his palms are up and open. She glances at his face, his eyes closed and his lips curled into a smirk, and she drops her gift in his awaiting hands.

"Okay. Now open them."

When grey eyes open, they widen at once.

In his hands, he holds a small golden locket with ornate filigrees framing the sides. One side bears a thin plate of gold, while the other side shows two locks of hair, raven and pale gold, braided together. He knows at once to whom the locks belong, brushing his thumb over the glass that encases them inside.

Curiously, he opens the locket and a small photo of Valtiel and himself is within. He remembers this photo; their neighbor had taken this one so long ago. In the picture, he stands tall beside Valtiel, his arm around her waist and his eyes closed as he kisses her hair. Valtiel, in her yellow sundress, leans close and smiles sweetly at the camera.

He studies the locket from outside and inside, and notes with amusement, "This is a mourning locket."

"It is."

"Mourning lockets for a birthday present?" He still sounds perpetually amused. "They are given to commemorate the deceased members of a family. It should be the deceased's hair and photo inside."

"So you don't like it?" The feeling of dread threatens to swallow her whole.

"It's beautiful." Chrollo smiles at their hair intertwined together and at their photo. That is their first photo together, not that there would be a second one, however. Photos are a dangerous affair for the leader of the Phantom Troupe. He takes the locket and slings it around his neck, brushing against his bare chest.

The gold of the locket catches the sunset, glimmering as it hangs loose.

Valtiel reaches out and fingers the pendant. "I found it yesterday when I was wandering downtown," she mutters. "I wanted to give you something meaningful, a book perhaps, but you've been stealing books since time began and giving you another exhausts the meaningful thought."

"And the photo? Did Kieran give it to you?"

"He did." Her eyes shoot up to him, glaring. "So don't kill him."

"Perhaps I won't."

"It looks good on you." She sighs and looks up at his face.

The sun sinks ever lower, yet the burning candles stop the place from getting entirely dark. They smell of fresh cut roses and lavender combined. It intoxicates her, draws her ever toward the Danchou. With his serene expression and his soft smile, it is hard not to blush before his intense staring.

Abruptly, she says: "I have another gift for you."

He seems surprised. "Do you now? How generous of you, dear Val."

Her nervous fingers fiddle with the hem of her white skirt. "But first, you have to close your eyes."

Obeying, he heaves a deep breath and closes his eyes. The winds pick up again, swaying his hair and shirt; and the glare of the candles dance across his alabaster skin.

She scoots closer over the sand and stares long and hard at his face. Her fingers are frozen despite the warmth in the air, and her entire body is shaking. Her bangs fall across her eyes and she swipes at them hurriedly, almost afraid to miss a single beat. When she draws closer still, she smells coffee and old books on him. It is very much like the Danchou she knows.

 _I don't do anything by halves_.

Heart hammering in her chest, Valtiel leans forward and places her lips over Chrollo's own for a soft, experimental kiss. She feels him stiffen in an instant, the shock of her bold actions forcing his eyes wide and open. Yet she pushes on, curious and experimenting, her lips searching for his and moving with soft, careful strokes.

Chrollo sits dazed for a few moments, eyes open yet seeing nothing. Not the beach. Not the candles and the trees. And certainly not the Kurta.

But he _feels_. He feels warm lips over his own, the touch of them sending thousands of confusing−yet undeniably pleasant−sensations.

As if a fire ignites within him, he weaves a hand through her platinum-blonde hair and gives a gentle tug, her messy bun coming undone over her shoulders and back. He pushes his lips back to her, meeting her every stroke, humming low as he tastes how sweet a Kurta could be. He hears her little sigh of delight, and he hears himself grunt in answer. It sounds more like a whine in his ears, needy and pathetic, and certainly not something that should come from the leader of the Phantom Troupe.

At that realization, he quickly withdraws from her, jaw set and tight. His dark eyes are ablaze with passion and confusion. He notes how Valtiel's lips have grown red and glistening, and knows that his own must be in the same predicament.

Then he stands, stiff like a statue, one hand over his mouth. He glares down on her so murderously that he could have killed her then and there.

"Danchou?" she calls out in her tender voice, confused. "What's wrong?"

"That was a mistake," Chrollo hisses at her. Voice cold beneath his mouth. "You shouldn't have done that."

With one last glare, he turns around to the opposite direction. His pace is fast and brisk; as if he would rather be anywhere else than in this place. The beach and his candles are forgotten in an instant. His gift to her and the mourning locket inconsequential to his anger.

Tears cloud her eyes even before Chrollo could disappear from her sight.

Valtiel draws her gaze down to the sand and lets the tears flow. She weeps for a decision gone wrong, for feelings rejected, and for his harsh words. She mourns for sabotaging whatever friendship she had with him by experimenting, for questioning what kind of relationship exactly she has with the Spider. They are friends, yes, during their childhood. They are partners, yes, whenever the mission demands. But they are not husband and wife. Not even lovers. That is her mistake.

 _Foolish thoughts for a foolish girl._

One strong gust and the candles die out, leaving her alone in the shadows.

Now Chrollo is gone again, and she is alone, hugging her knees and watching the waves crash over the rocks. She wants to disappear after that embarrassing mistake.

Would the waves break her body against the rocks if she plunges herself to the sea? Or would the waves sweep her away and drown her? Either option sounds better than going home and looking at Chrollo's face.

She could already imagine the downward pull of his sneer, the hatred gleaming in his dark eyes.

Brimming tears flow from her chin to her dress. She presses the heel of her palm to her eyes to stop the tears, but they are persistent. She buries her face in her skirts and sobs to the fabric.

Is this what heartbreak feels like? But she does not love Chrollo the same way as a romantic partner does. She admires and respects him, finds him charming and, yes, handsome and kind. Though he steals and murders, it doesn't stop her from acknowledging how strong he is as a person.

Perhaps it was his harsh reaction and words spit like venom that breaks her? How his usually gentle demeanor has turned into something dark and venomous in a split second? She weeps and cowers in fear, dreading the moment she has to go home.

* * *

Sunset stretches on to midnight.

Valtiel, having exhausted all the tears she has in her, decides to walk home. She leaves the candles where they stand, aware that the Spider leader would not give two cents about them. She walks home like a drunken man, with unsteady gait. _I am drunk_ , she notes to herself. _Drunk with delusion and heartbreak. I shall die before the dawn breaks and all the more reason for Danchou to celebrate._

She braces herself when she comes home, once again near tears. When she opens the door, it is not the dark face of Chrollo Lucilfer greeting her, but Pairo's eager face and low purring.

The Danchou is nowhere to be seen. The house is dark and cold, as if he has never been here.

She puts her birthday gift on the coffee table and meanders towards the fireplace, where something small and golden catches the moonlight. Her eyes are already heavy and bloodshot from crying.

Unbidden tears come forward again at the sight of the mourning locket discarded on the fireplace. Their intertwined locks and photo are still in place, the locket still in one piece−the only respite she has after imagining Chrollo smashing the locket or burning the photo in his anger.

Wiping her tears again, she takes the locket with her to the bedroom. She sluggishly removes her dress and lets it pool around her ankles, and then steps out of it. She changes into a nightdress before flinging herself to the bed.

 _Even the bed is cold_ , she notes with unwavering sadness. _What a mournful day_. Her eyes flutter shut, herself tired and emotionally spent.

She opens her eyes again and observes the locket, the moonlight on the glass reflecting her eyes. Her brows furrow then, as she notices the bright tinge of red in her eyes.

Like a women crazed, she fumbles for a mirror and holds it over her face.

The bright, iridescent glow of the Scarlet Eyes is unmistakable. Even in the dimness of the room, the scarlet overwhelms the gold and dances over the flecks. Paired with her tears, the irises glimmer like a wave of red-and-gold. She blinks at her reflection and grows more confused with each passing second.

 _Scarlet Eyes? But how? Since when did I−_

Her phone buzzes from underneath her pillow. She has forgotten to bring it to the beach with her.

She ignores all thoughts of the Scarlet Eyes as she finds four missed calls and a handful of unread messages. The notification lists the unread messages as fourteen. It knocks the breath out of her. Who in the world would send her fourteen messages in a span of six hours? When she opens each one, she sighs and understands at once.

 _17:58 Kortopi-san: Happy birthday, Valtiel. I hope you are well on this special day._

 _18:21 Machi-san: I wish you and Danchou a very happy birthday, Val._

 _18:33 Yuan-san: Happy birthday, Miss Valtiel. I'm wishing for your good health. Take care always._

 _19:05 Phink-san: Happy birthday, doll face! Alright! You're 18 now, aren't you? Or is it 19?_

 _19:07 Franklin-san: Phinks was just asking me about your age. Don't tell him. He's a bad friend if he doesn't know how old his friends are… Happy 17th birthday, Val._

 _19:10 Phink-san: Oh shit wait. You're 17? I thought Shal is the 17 one?_

 _19:56 Paku-san: Good evening, Val. Happy birthday! I imagine you and Danchou are having fun together. I would love to come back but I am on a mission with Nobunaga. Say hello to Pairo for me._

 _20:12 Nobu-san: Happy birthday, kid. I almost forgot it's your special day, too. Spare me some cakes, yeah? See you, but not soon, I hope._

 _20:13: Nobu-san: And ice cream, don't forget. Uvo has a weird craving for ice creams._

 _21:47 Shal-san: Happiest birthday to two of my favorite people in the world! Wishing you every happiness Val and Danchou!_ _(_ _ω_ _)_ _Let's see each other soon!_

 _21:53 Fei-san: Don't flatter yourself. Shal forced me to message… Happy birthday, little girl… You better train your claws or I flay your fingers._

 _21:54 Shal-san: Never mind Feitan. He's just shy_

 _22:11 Uvo-san: Oh! Happy birthday, kiddo! Too bad the Troupe didn't get to celebrate this time. I'll buy you ice cream and balloons when we see next time, don't worry!_ _(͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_

 _23:00 Omokage-san: My, how time flies. It has been a full year since your accident, isn't it? I hope you are well in the care of our esteemed Danchou. Has he told you more than he should, or do your memories still deceive you? Either way, I wish you a wonderful birthday, dearest poppet._

The amount of cheerful messages overwhelms her that she forgets the heavy feeling in her heart and the confusion in her different-colored eyes. She sinks back to the bed and replies to all the messages, and within moments, she receives reply from the other Spiders.

 _00:14 Phink-san: Nah. It's nothing, doll face. Go to sleep. It's late already._

 _00:16 Machi-san: You're always welcome, Val. Good night._

 _00:17 Fei-san: Is late. Go sleep. You will need to grow stronger._

 _00:20 Shal-san: Good night, Val! Sleep tight! And don't let Danchou bite!_ _(_ ^ _ᴗ ^_ _)_

Valtiel smiles sadly and puts her phone on the bedside table. She removes all of Chrollo's pillows away from her side of the bed and hogs the entire blanket for herself. Her eyes are heavier, a mixture of dried tears and sleepiness. Her phone continues buzzing, and despite the nagging feeling, she ignores it; the messages could wait until tomorrow.

As sleep takes her, a dark shadow looms over the bed. She sighs in contentment.

Perhaps Death has come to take her tonight, after all.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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Here's everyone's long-awaited kiss! But like I said, you guys have been warned. stopped working and Valtiel's heartbroken. Not much to say here, folks. I'll leave everything to your judgement! Did Chrollo do the right thing? Or was is really Val's fault on her part?

* **xenocanaan** \- No worries! Despite his parents' "separation", Pairo is still alive! Chrollo needs to start filing visitation papers.

* **Coolfire30** \- Absolutely loved your last review! Great observation there! Right now, I'm just not sure whether that still applies to their relationship. Chrollo basically "rage quit" on Val at that beach. He is always subtle in his manners, but now it seems he just exploded. Too many emotions to process, perhaps? And it all fell on poor Val...

And about the Chrollo being almost close to canon material... I believe fangirling on this bastard since sixth grade up until now does have its wonders. XD Not to mention being a fan of HXH for as long as I can remember.

* **Aurora Clarion** \- As a massive fangirl, a possessive, obsessive, full-of-jealousy, yandere freak Chrollo gives me life. And I love how you also described him as unreachable and unreadable. He is indeed one mysterious character!

* **HuangShaotian0005** \- You mentioned something before about Chrollo leaving Valtiel? Well, here it is now! I̶'̶m̶ ̶s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶!̶

* **Amy** \- I'm happy to be back! It'd be lovely to picture Chrollo and Val being a happy family... but that's in an alternate universe. Sadly. I would still live to believe that Chrollo cares for her in his own strange, twisted way. But this guy's a thief and a murderer, and there's no telling when it comes to him.

* **HII** \- We all love a very possessive Chrollo. *wink wonk*

Thank you all for patiently waiting for the update and for reading this _special_ chapter! Can't say what would be up for the next chapter, but if you guys have any recommendations, suggestions, opinions, _**violent reactions**_ , let me know! ;)


	25. Chapter XXV

**Chapter XXV**

* * *

Chrollo did not come back the next day. And the day after that. And another.

In the long days of his absence, Valtiel has learned to keep inside the house, cold and dark and lonesome without his company. She sits on the window ledge on rainy days and curls up on the swing on windy days. She has learned to keep her mouth shut, walking like a dead woman over the mess of ripped pillows and couch that Pairo has done. For meals, she sits quite alone, eating off her fingers whatever leftovers and online deliveries she manages. And the long nights−mostly spent discussing books with Chrollo−she spends in the bedroom, crying herself to sleep.

Once, she contemplates whether to throw the locket or not. It would have been a waste, but who else would care for the sorry little thing? She did not mean it for herself; it was for Chrollo and Chrollo himself did not want it.

 _It's beautiful_ , he told her once. When she looks at their photo, her lips tremble. _Not so beautiful now it seems._

Pairo is the only company she has left, and even then, his presence is wavering. It started as a mere cough, perhaps a headache even. The more she practices her ability on him, the more she notices that his nose and ears are bleeding, his maroon eyes constricted and the veins evident. He retches on the floor, paws scratch at his eyes, and retches some more. Valtiel cleans up after him, and then retreats to the solace of the bedroom, buried under the blanket, her cheeks damp.

There are days when their−her−kind neighbors would knock on her door to ask if everything is all right. The Eleisons are reclusive together, but without the husband, the wife would often go out and greet the people. At those times, Valtiel would only shake her head and hide herself under the covers, pretending that no one is home. After a few knocks, Pairo would growl and hiss and the neighbors knocked no more.

There are times she spent staring at herself in the mirror. She sees nothing but a girl with too pale a face, with dark bags under her lifeless eyes. She looks ghoulish, a white lady to scare the children at night.

Whatever she saw that night, they didn't come back.

She must have dreamt of the Scarlet Eyes that night. No matter how long she sat before the mirror, tears running down her face for some godforsaken reason, the Scarlet Eyes are a faraway memory. She doesn't even know what she is trying to prove with the Scarlet Eyes. Some sort of comfort? Tell-tale signs of some mystery?

She doesn't know, she doesn't know _anything_ anymore.

Finally, after an entire week of darkness, something happens.

Her phone lights up.

She fumbles for her phone. It has been an entire week since she last used it. Chrollo had given her the sort with a battery life that can extend for a month. She peers under the blanket and reads the message.

 _15:45 Phink-san: I'm picking you up, kid. Get dressed. Be there in an hour._

Her eyebrows knit together. Phinks? Why would Phinks come and get her? Chrollo and Shalnark had been careful about the house's location, and only few of the Spiders know where it is. She is sure Phinks is not one of them. And why would he come for her? She is almost _painfully_ sure the Phantom Troupe has forgotten about her sorry existence.

One hour later, someone knocks on her door. She barely has the energy to stand from the bed, let alone open the door and fake a cheerful smile for Phinks. She is crossing the threshold to the living room when the main door suddenly bursts open, with Phinks on the other side, one leg suspended in the air.

"Yo," he greets, entering the dim place and looking around the mess. He whistles, impressed, and then blinks at her appearance. "Wait. Are you Val? Am I in the right place?"

"Hello, Phink-san." She musters her most charming smile, the corners of her mouth stiff. She wears an oversized blue-grey shirt and grey sweatpants, barefooted, and her blonde hair up in a hasty bun. The sleeves of her shirt swallow her arms as she waves a hand. "Welcome. What brings you here?"

"We came to get you." Another voice comes from behind. Nobunaga steps over the mess Phinks made and scratches his stubble. "Obviously."

"What for?"

"Didn't get the memo, did ya?" Nobunaga flops on the couch and raises an eyebrow at the ripped fabric and the sea of white feathers and cushion thrown about him.

"We're having a raid in three days," Phinks says. He leans his hips against the back and crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes observe her from head to toe and linger on her pale face. "You don't look so good, kid. Are you sure you're okay? You're not sick, are you?"

"No, I'm fine," she answers, meek.

"Good because Danchou wants all hands on deck in this mission," says Nobunaga. "Not everyone will be around, so we could use your help." He squints at her. "Not that we expect you to be of any help anyway."

She nods, biting her lower lip. So Chrollo sent these two instead of doing it himself. Did she repulse him after that one mistake? Did he not want to look at her face and remember what happened on the beach? If so, then she repulses him and it sends another wave of sadness in her.

Nobunaga and Phinks exchange furtive glances.

A low growl sounds somewhere in the house. The two Spiders flinch and look around. The curtains are drawn and the house is dark, yet a pair of maroon eyes gleams in the shadows. It stares at Nobunaga on the couch, then at Phinks near Valtiel. In a blur of shiny black coat, the panther cub pounces−sharp canines bared−to the nearest victim.

Phinks catches the panther by the neck and holds it at arm's length away from his face. The panther yowls and slashes long, ungroomed claws at him, tearing the sleeves of his dark red tracksuit into ribbons. His fingers tighten around the panther's windpipe, crushing the bones there, yet Pairo hisses more menacingly, thrashes all the more, and bites down on Phinks's wrist−hard.

Snorting, Phinks puts both hands on either sides of the panther's jaw, and rips Pairo's head into two. The strength of his pull tears the body down to the sternum.

Flesh, blood, and guts spill unceremoniously to the floor. Nobunaga scrambles away from the bloodied mess as Phinks wiggles his fingers.

"Punk." The blond Spider growls down at the corpse and turns to Valtiel. "What the hell are you doing with a wild animal in your house, kiddo? That thing's **dangerous**. Could've ripped you to shreds in seconds. Good thing I'm here to−"

He stops when her tears start to flow.

Nobunaga grins wide. "Oh, boy. You made her cry."

Phinks rounds toward the samurai and shouts, indignant, "I did not!" Then he whirls back to Valtiel and flinches, hands waving in the air. "No, no, no, don't cry−Was that your _cat_? I didn't know! Don't cry, kid− _Valtiel_ −No, don't do that. I'm so sorry!"

She starts crying louder, face buried in her hands.

Phinks blanches and keeps waving his hands in the air, helpless. "Don't cry, Val. No, stop, _please_. I'll−" He shoots the samurai a quick murderous glare when Nobunaga snickers−"I'll give you another cat, okay? Sounds good? I'll, um, give you… uh… A lion!" He grins, all teeth and a big, bright smile. "A lion cub, okay? So _please_ don't cry!"

"That's okay," Valtiel murmurs. She loved Pairo. With all her heart. Whatever little she has left in her world, she loved Pairo with everything that she has. She glances down on the mess on the floor: the once shiny black coat is marred with torn flesh and ligaments.

A harsh death, Phantom Troupe style.

"I'm telling Danchou," Nobunaga teases.

"Don't you dare!" Phinks shouts.

"Please don't." She surprises them both by interrupting. "Please. Don't tell Danchou anything."

The two Spiders exchange suspicious glances.

Nobunaga waves a hand at her. "Very well," he says. "We should better get going. We have a few hours worth of travel ahead of us." He stands and jabs a finger at her miserable appearance. "Take a shower first. And change your clothes. You look like a hobo."

She smiles weakly and heads for the bathroom.

* * *

Phinks is in the driver's seat. Nobunaga, sensing that the young woman is nowhere in good condition to be sitting alone in the back, sits beside her there.

"So." Nobunaga clears his throat, peeking at her bland face. "How was the birthday?"

Valtiel freezes as she lowers her head. "It was fine."

Phinks glances at the rearview mirror. "Got any gifts?"

She nods. "A blade with a gauntlet." Her heart feels heavy again. "From Danchou."

"Oh, so that's why he keeps asking about Ben Delon's works!" Nobunaga sits up straighter and beams at her. "He kept asking me which blade would be good for a non-fighter. Didn't guess it would be you, brat! How is it? Did you like it?"

"It was fine."

"Pretty cool, huh?"

"It was."

Blinking at her dull responses, Nobunaga turns to Phinks for help.

Phinks, annoyingly useless, just shrugs back. It earns another glare from Nobu.

After a while of silent driving, Nobunaga pounces from his seat and lunges to their driver. Phinks groans as the samurai whispers something in his ear. Then he nods in understanding, swerving the car to the place Nobu recommends. It seems Nobunaga knows his way around the city and leans back again in his seat with a proud smile.

Not five minutes later, Phinks slows the car to a stop and gets out. Nobunaga follows suit, slamming the door shut without any explanation.

Curious, Valtiel scoots to the window and blinks at the signboard above the awning. _Zeta Eiscremery._

She blinks and decides to stay inside. Whatever business the Spiders have inside the shop, that is their own−despite the muffled screams and sounds of breaking bones she could hear from where she sits.

Their business does not take too long, for Phinks and Nobunaga return to the car, cradling tubs upon tubs of ice cream in seven different flavors. They drop the tubs next to her seat, without any words, and then Phinks drives again, his mouth pursed.

Valtiel peeps at the ice cream tubs. "What are these for?"

"For your birthday. Duh." Nobunaga fetches a chocolate flavor and opens the lid. He grins as he practically shoves the thing into her arms. "This one has sprinkles on it," he says, very proud. "Uvo calls them unicorn shit. He likes them though."

"So _stop_ your sulking, kid," Phinks snaps from the driver's seat. "I _don't_ want to see you frowning for the rest of the trip. You got that?"

"Yes, Phink-san." She smiles at him, but her mirth does not reach her eyes. The Spiders notice, but make no mention of it. Whatever problem she has, that is her own, unless she decides to share. She receives an ice cream tub from Nobu and they eat together in the back seat.

"Good girl," Phinks says, and Valtiel is reminded of a dog.

* * *

For this time's mission, the Phantom Troupe gathers in an old decaying castle.

Valtiel's eyes are forever outside the window, craning her neck so she could see the entire structure of five colossal towers, connected together by stone bridges. The stonewalls are black from fire and withered by rains and snows. The car passes under a crumbling archway and pushes onwards, past the double doors and parks in the castle's great hall. Bats infest the wooden beams and hang upside-down from the vaulted ceilings, their ear-piercing cries resonating around them.

Phinks and Nobunaga lead the way where the others are waiting. The castle's throne room.

"Not everyone's here though," Phinks murmurs as a heads-up. "Just some of the others."

"Better that than none," says Nobunaga, yawning.

"Is Danchou here?" Valtiel hears herself say. In this dark castle, she could imagine the ghosts of the past lingering here. _I want to be a ghost, too._

"Of course. He's been here for a week." And Nobu yawns again.

She nods. Now she knows where Chrollo disappeared to. Locked himself in an ancient castle. With the howling wind and smell of decay in the air. Small wonder why he would choose such a place. Better here than in their old home−if that small, cozy house even counted as a home to him.

Upon reaching the throne room, several faces light up to see her.

Shalnark. Machi. Pakunoda. Omokage. Even Feitan is here, glowering from his position on the window ledge. The first three come forward to greet the newcomers. Shalnark, always in his bubbly self, offers a big embrace to Valtiel, but he checks himself when she does not jump in his embrace as she always does.

Machi rakes bright blue eyes on the Kurta. "You look pale, Val." Her voice is sharp and quiet. "Are you sick?"

"Oh, no." Valtiel shakes her head and makes a show of smiling as cheerfully as she could. The way Machi's eyebrow raises tells her that the Spider is not convinced. She fidgets before her calculating gaze. "I'm fine. Just a little tired from the trip, maybe."

"You do look bad," Shalnark notes. "Are you sure you should even be in this mission?"

"I can do whatever I can do to help."

"Maybe you should sit down." Omokage takes her hand in his bony one, and draws her towards the sole window where Feitan sits. The dark-haired thief shrugs as Valtiel joins him there. Omokage, his black eyes glazing her overall appearance, licks his lips in anticipation. "You are pale as snow. What ever in the world happened to you? I had thought Danchou would take good care of you."

She winces and tries hard not to glance towards the imposing throne at the center. In her peripheral vision, there is a dark figure seated there, reading his book by the candlelight.

Feitan sneers at the puppeteer. "Maybe if you leave her alone she won't be so pale anymore."

Omokage chuckles at the other's harsh tone. As he expects from Feitan. "Why, yes. Either you are correct or I am. I do believe there's something we are missing here."

"Quit yapping." Phinks sits cross-legged on the stone floor, next to Shalnark. "We have a mission and this is everyone we can gather." He turns for their leader, who remains unfazed.

Pakunoda slips from the sidelines and offers Valtiel a bottled water. She is back in her office suit and high heels. Her smile is still warm and friendly. "It's been a while," she says. "How's everything?"

"Everything is…" Valtiel sighs. "Not as it used to be."

"Oh?" Paku's sight lands to their Danchou. She smirks, teasing. "A lover's quarrel, perhaps?"

"Hardly." Valtiel does not want to think more on the matter. She does not want to hear the Spiders teasing her about it−for fear that it might incite Chrollo's anger more. She could not look at his face without feeling the same rush of shame and guilt after what she did. Seated amongst the Spiders, she could do no better than to sit still and be quiet.

The flames of the candle flicker, despite the lack of wind. She feels another presence, new and strange to her. Around her, the Spiders grow cold and turn towards the entrance door.

Something is coming towards them. Rather, _someone_. Valtiel peers beside Pakunoda's arm as a tall and muscular young man materializes from the shadows.

He moves with languid grace, and dresses in a jester's outfit of black top and pants with golden suit symbols of heart and spade on his chest. He has bright red hair, highlighted with purple streaks, and a skin so pale it is all but translucent. He stops at the threshold, meeting everyone's eyes and grinning from ear-to-ear. His sudden presence and strange appearance sparks an interest in Valtiel, that she does not notice Chrollo rising from his crumbling throne to address the strange man.

"You are trespassing in our private meeting." Chrollo's voice is quiet and soft. "I would ask you to leave."

"Oh, no, no. I cannot do that," the man singsongs, hands on his hips, one foot stepped forward. "I came to find the Phantom Troupe."

"Rejoice, then, for you have found us."

The silence between leader and jester stretches on for a few moments. The latter takes his time drinking in the sight of Chrollo, dressed in a black leather coat with his raven hair slicked backwards. A chuckle escapes from the jester, as he lets bright yellow eyes roam around the place, noting each present Spider and licking his lips when his eyes land between Machi and Feitan.

He turns back to Danchou. "I should like to join your Troupe."

Chrollo's façade never wavers. "By all means, you have every right to join. However, the Troupe has rules. If you wish to join, you would have to fight one of the members and kill them, thereby replacing them." He sweeps a hand in a semi-circle, gesturing to the seven Spiders present. "As a reward for tracking our movements, I would let you take your pick."

The jester licks at his lips. The Spiders turn around to face them, all of them dark-faced and growling deep−except for Shalnark, who just laughs, and Omokage, who is still deciding whether to take the Kurta's eyes for his own. The stranger meets Nobunaga in a heated stare, and then Machi.

Looking over to the far side, he spots a small group nestling closely together.

Behind the large build of Phinks and seated at Feitan's feet is a young woman, who does not seem to share her friends' bloodthirst. He smiles upon imagining her warm blood staining her white coat and pants, her life's blood slipping through his fingers like silk. He could sense the sudden tension in the air whenever his eyes land on her. Not from the Spiders beside her, but from the leader himself.

A dark foreboding aura radiates from the leader, and it puts excitement in his veins.

He has found his target, his muse.

He whips out a card−a Queen of Hearts−and points at her.

"I challenge her," he says cheerfully.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** *insert The Office gif* _**"OH MY GOD! OKAY! IT'S HAPPENING! EVERYBODY STAY CALM!**_

Not sure which part I'm more excited about: having most of the Spiders together again or finally having a certain magician in the story. On one hand, we have charismatic, handsome Chrollo... and the other we have bloodthirsty Hisoka. My inner fangirl is squirming with excitement!

* **xenocanaan** \- Hoping you like this one!

* **HuangShaotian0005** \- That kiss went from 100 to -0 real quick! Gee, thanks, Chrollo! And do you think Chrollo felt bad his reaction? That bastard? He's seen worse things. He probably doesn't care much about hurting Val's feelings.

* **Mia Mena** \- Our girl Val finally got the courage... but, sadly, she got Danchou-zoned. Bad, Danchou, bad!

* **Amy** \- Ooh, the idea of Chrollo being totally in love but reacting that way because he has no prior "genuine" experience with romance is thrilling! I can see him flirting and dating, of course, but missing the genuine part. And yes, Val deserves better than this. Where's Kurapika?! This boi needs to save her ASAP!

* **Kira Rara** \- Sadly, your ChroVal ship has split in half, my friend.

* **Aurora Clarion** \- Like I said before, she got Danchou-zoned. LOL. But you're right: Chrollo pulled a dick move on her. The concept of sincerity is definitely lost on this man. He can't handle true emotions, and his reaction (I think) is justified. Yet worry not! Hisoka is here and he will make everything better... maybe... Speaking of the Kakin Prince, maybe Chrollo will understand her worth when the prince successfully kidnaps her.

And an AdultrioxValtiel fic?! Don't tempt me! I extremely love the Adultrio as a group and as individuals. You have no idea how much I fangirled over these men while I was in grade school! A fic of them three with Valtiel would probably my greatest pleasure as well!

As for your questions, at this point, I'm not sure whether Val and Chrollo are on speaking terms. Especially when it's regarding the Scarlet Eyes. I could already see Chrollo reacting violently if he finds out or if Val opens the topic up. Plus, I'd like to think that Hisoka was the "shadow" watching over her. How else would he find the Troupe?

Thanks for the lengthy, awesome review!

* **Eric** \- Sorry it took a while! Hope you like this!

* **ChroVal** \- Unfortunately, Danchou is awkward and lame when it comes to "real" romance. Val does have the worst luck of them all. Stuck in a group o chaotic mass murderers-slash-thieves with their equally awkward leader. Sigh.

* **DreamPlume** \- Wow! Let me congratulate you for finishing all 24 chapters in one go! I shall bestow upon you the prize of your choice: shirtless Chrollo, shirtless Hisoka, or Valtiel's extreme happiness and meeting Kurapika again? Please do pick whichever suits your fancy, my new friend.

Let me know what you guys think! How much more chaos can we throw their way to make things more difficult? Because I live for jealous and angsty Chrollo, a smug and flirty Hisoka, and an innocent and confused Val. Then add Chrollo's Spiders who will more than likely kick Hisoka in the ass... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

P.S. Rest in Peace for the second time around, Pairo.


	26. Chapter XXVI

**Chapter XXVI**

* * *

" _ **Fucking**_ no," Phinks rumbles, dark-faced and angry.

"Oh?" A lazy smile stretches across the magician's lips. He turns bright amber eyes back to Chrollo. "But your leader himself stated I can take my pick. I want to challenge her."

"Yeah? Well, news flash, dipshit! She's not a Spider." Phinks draws himself to his tallest height as he leers at the other man. "Challenge someone else."

"That's kind of unfair to me, isn't it?" The magician has the nerve to pout, petulant, like a child denied his toy. He turns back again to Chrollo, like a son waiting for a parent's permission.

Chrollo levels the situation with quiet grace. He stands at the crumbling throne, hands in his pockets, the evening breeze stirring his black overcoat.

Around him, the other Troupe members are also waiting for his decision, holding their breaths like bated bears. He feels everyone's gaze on him−but not Valtiel. Not her. She has been extremely careful not to glance his way or acknowledge his presence. His lips spread into a thin line, remembering all of a sudden how hers pressed against his not so long ago.

Before he could express his judgement, someone else speaks up.

"If you challenge her, even if she's not a member, you gain nothing by it," says Shalnark, levelheaded as always. "You will have to challenge another one to replace them."

"Exactly." Phinks is quick to side with his friend. "You fight her and kill her, you still gain nothing."

"Or she kills you." Feitan jumps from the window ledge and stands beside Valtiel. His black eyes glare daggers at the beaming magician. He hates his sunny disposition. "She defeats and kills you, and you die in the most pathetic way possible. You die for nothing."

Valtiel widens her eyes at Feitan. Although she doubts she could even last five seconds against the magician, she is surprised to hear him taking her side. She nestles closer around the Spiders, letting them do all the talk for her.

Again, the magician pouts. "If I can't fight her, then I can pick someone else?"

"That's what we've been telling you, genius," Nobunaga snaps.

"Okay, then. If I can't fight her−" He licks his lips at Chrollo's direction−"then surely I can challenge you?"

All the Spiders rise from the floor and dark, unmasked aura bursts furiously from them. The intense amount of aura from powerful Nen users shake the entire castle, its stonewalls crumbling further and the wooden beams from above falling on them. The very atmosphere is heavy with the scent of danger−and even then, the magician seems to bask in their anger and gives them another cheerful smile.

Chrollo lets the intensity hang for a moment, and then raises a hand.

The black aura dissipates. Valtiel could not even start to comprehend how they could manage such an amount of aura as a group. She already pities the victims of their next raid.

The magician just grins at the blatant display of threat.

"Of course you can challenge me," Chrollo says, much to the surprise and utter horror of the members.

Machi flinches and Nobunaga's face goes white. Pakunoda and Shalnark glance at the magician.

Even then, at his announcement, Chrollo notices that Valtiel does not dare looking up and meeting his eyes. He purses his lips.

"Since it never happened before, there are really no rules against challenging me. If you defeat me−which I _highly_ doubt would happen−you would have to step up as the leader of the Phantom Troupe. Now, can you promise me that you can own to the commitment?"

"Hmm. Commitments are not really my thing," the magician answers after one thoughtful moment. "If it's okay with you, maybe I'll try again after a few years."

"I see." Chrollo nods to the other members. "Then choose which one to fight."

"Can it not be her?"

Pakunoda sighs and murmurs under her breath, "He's stubborn. This is getting tedious."

Valtiel feels the magician's stare on her again, despite Phinks's large build towering over her like a statue. She peers behind his arm and meets the magician's amber eyes.

He is smiling at her again, not the same malicious one he has before, but a cheerful, friendly smile.

She swallows hard and whispers, "Maybe I should try−"

"You _shut_ your mouth," Feitan snarls. "I _don't_ want to hear anything from you."

"He'd skin you alive," Nobunaga agrees.

 _Gee, thanks, guys_. Valtiel nods and obediently says no more.

Phinks takes an aggressive step forward while he cracks his knuckles. An orange aura surrounds his body and the magician stands straighter, poised like a dancer on the floor. Phinks jabs a finger at the magician's direction and growls.

"You wanna fight her? You gotta go through me first."

The magician's eyes gleam at him and Phinks scowls deeper, angrier. "What's the matter, clown? Afraid to fight me? Come on! Let's get this over with!"

"Maybe you should sit this one out, Phinks." Omokage sidesteps the blond Spider, a devious grin playing across his lips. He strides towards the center of the throne room, the black cape he wears billowing with the wind. "I have recently acquired dolls, you see. I'd like to try them."

"Be my guest." Phinks could care less about the creepy puppeteer. He sinks down to the ground next to Valtiel and leans against her. His warmth soothes her. "Anyone can fight the bastard."

"Thank you," says Omokage, and then turns to the magician. His aura slowly emerges and surrounds him, like a warm blanket. "Will you play with me?"

"Ooh. Interesting."

The magician appreciates the power behind the puppeteer's aura. He saunters forward−until he and Omokage are facing each other like fighters in a battlefield. The Spiders watch around them, with Chrollo on his throne by the candlelight, observing like a game master. The magician produces a deck of cards out of thin air and shuffles them expertly.

"Would you mind picking a card for me?"

"No," Omokage growls and puts out his right hand. His numbered spider tattoo is in front for the magician's gaze.

Another, more powerful burst of aura comes from him. He snaps his finger; a puppet of a green-haired woman in a body armor materializes behind him. The puppet summons numerous crystalline blades, which hover behind Omokage in a semi-circle.

Grinning maniacally, Omokage sends the blades towards the magician in a dizzying speed, whistling through the air powerful enough to damage the stone floor.

The magician dodges at the last second, somersaulting with absolute grace, and then launches himself in the air, high above them all.

Omokage flicks his wrist and the puppet's blades pivot upwards. The magician pits his cards against the blades; the cards slice into half and the blades fly to the ground, embedded there deeply.

Omokage scoffs and snaps his fingers again. This time, a burly pirate materializes and sends an iced geyser towards the magician.

The attack misses again, for the magician leaps out of the way, jumping from one column to another. Omokage follows the quick movements with ease, though he could not concentrate whether to summon the swordswoman or the pirate again.

The magician sees through his temporary lapse and dives toward the puppeteer, destroying one stone column that he uses as a leverage. He closes the distance between them in a tenth of a second and comes face-to-face with the astounded puppeteer.

Omokage grits his teeth. Before he could snap again, the magician yanks at his right hand and forces it backwards, breaking bones and ripping veins from the inside. Omokage's pained scream resonates in the entire room and bounces back from the vaulted ceilings. He glares at the smiling magician and attempts to punch him in the face. However, physical strength is not his field, the magician takes the punch in stride and delivers one strong blow of his own.

The force of his punch sends Omokage flying backwards, toward Chrollo and his throne. The magician snickers and runs after Omokage, then throws a back kick.

Omokage snaps the finger of his left hand and summons the pirate again, in which the pirate wraps Omokage's feet in a block of ice to slow him down and grounds him firmly to the floor.

The magician nods in appreciation, but he is done playing. He opens his palms wide, and then with a flick of his wrists, the crystalline blades on the floor rise and hurl toward the puppeteer. Omokage gasps, unable to release the pirate's ability, which damns him and subjects himself to the numerous blades surging forward.

Valtiel puts a hand over her mouth to stop a scream. She does not miss the swift movements of the blades as they pierce through Omokage's entire body.

Blades go through his thighs and legs. Multiple blades notch deeply into his stomach. A lone blade goes straight through his open mouth. Omokage's aura dims and then disappears, and the pirate's ability vanishes. His body slowly goes limp, yet it stands, held up by the several blades crisscrossing his body.

"Stop wincing," Feitan snaps at her again. His dark eyes are on the magician. "Use Gyo."

And so she does, blinking when she notices pinkish flimsy threads connected to the blades.

Feitan nods to the puppeteer's corpse. "What do you see?"

Countless of sleepless nights translating foreign languages and using Gyo prepared her for this. Her eyes dart and forth, counting the threads and noting where they are attached to.

"I count seventeen, all of them connected to the columns, ceilings, and even the floor."

"Do you know how they got there?"

She shrugs, lost.

"He set them up when he dodged the blades," Feitan explains, surprisingly patient. She is half expecting him to lash out again at her incompetence, but he sounds serene now, thoughtful even. Could Feitan even be thoughtful? "One blade per column and crisscrossed the threads around the place," he adds.

"Like a spider web," she whispers, amazed.

"Yes," he says. "Spider web."

"How did Omokage-san not notice?"

"Oh, the smartass noticed," Feitan says in a grim tone. "But he chose to ignore it. He knew at first glance what he was getting into, and played along with the clown's trap. He's planned this out well."

"But why would he get himself killed?" she asks, still lost.

"I believe he wants to get out of the Troupe," Machi chimes in, arms folded in front of her. She dares not take her eyes off the magician, and half expects him to challenge another member. "I noticed Omokage acting strangely ever since the…"

She pauses, about to say _Kurta Clan massacre_ , but halts when she remembers Valtiel's precarious situation. Even Feitan shoots her a quick accusatory glare.

"Ever since the last raid in the Norden mountains, he was very strange," she recovers.

"He's always strange." Nobunaga scratches at his nose. "Been asking for fights in the last few months."

"If he wanted to get out, he could have told us," Pakunoda says.

"Yeah. I'd kill him myself," Phinks says dreamily. "The punk."

Finally, Chrollo stands from his throne and steps down for the first time. He studies Omokage's butchered corpse and ignores the stench of blood seizing his senses. Instead, he stops in front of the magician and meets his salacious stare with calmness.

Around them, the Spiders stand in deference, with Phinks forcing Valtiel up to her feet when she refuses to acknowledge Chrollo's presence.

He congratulates the magician with a small smile and extends his hand to him. The magician takes it, allying himself to this man.

"Welcome to the Phantom Troupe," Chrollo says amiably. "You are our newest Number Four. I am Chrollo Lucilfer, the leader, and these are your new friends and comrades."

The members half-heartedly nod to him. No friendly greetings. No enthusiastic hand shakes or pat on the back for a fight well done. Once they finish, they all slump back to their seats and fall into silence. No one even asks for the magician's name, and he sits in the dark corner of the room, away from the Troupe members.

Valtiel glances at her phone. It is 12:00A.M. She sighs in defeat. She misses the small house and her giant of a clock that chimes every hour. She misses the bed, despite its coldness. She misses the swing on the porch, her little seed that has grown to bloom into a small sunflower.

And Pairo−she peeps at Phinks under her lashes and he grins down on her, nudges her with his shoulder, and says nothing. She could never hate Phinks for that, not when he is friendly to her like this.

Chrollo takes the center and explains the details of their mission. The raid would take place three hours from now, in a headquarters of a diamond trafficking operation not far from the castle. He assembles a team that consists of Shalnark, Machi, Nobunaga, Phinks, Feitan, and their as-of-yet newest unnamed member. Pakunoda and Valtiel are to stay behind at the base.

When the clock strikes three, the team moves out.

Valtiel snatches the sleeve of the nearest Spider−Phinks−and fidgets under the heaviness of his gaze. She fiddles with her fingers and murmurs, "Can I go with you guys?"

The Spider gapes at her. "What's that, dollface?"

"Can I go with you guys _please_?"

"Hell no." Phinks snorts. "We're not fetching ice cream this time. You stay here. Danchou's orders."

 _I'll be damned if I listen to one more order._ She sets her jaw tighter and glares into his face. Phinks takes a step back, shocked at her outburst.

"Please. I want to help _."_

 _I want to get out of here. I can't stand being in the same room with him and pretending nothing is wrong with me._

"Please," she says again. "I'll do my best to keep up. I won't stand in your way, Phink-san."

Shalnark notices them idling and pauses. "What's going on?"

Phinks makes a distressed face. "Val here wants to come."

"Oh? Really?!" Shalnark's face brightens and he laughs. "That's a first! But Danchou said you're staying behind, Val. And it will be dangerous. Do you really want to come?"

"Yes, please," she repeats, almost desperate now.

"Danchou!" Shalnark rounds towards their leader. Valtiel cowers behind Phinks's build to hide her shame from Chrollo's inquisitive gaze. "Valtiel wants to come to the mission! What d'you think?"

"Is that even a good idea?" Nobunaga interrupts. He pokes at Valtiel's left cheek. "It's dangerous."

"Oh, let her come," Feitan sighs in annoyance. "Let her tag along so she knows what's it like outdoors. She will have to get into the field sooner or later. Better now than never." He rolls his eyes and heads for the exit, followed closely by Machi.

"Well? What do you think, Danchou?" Shalnark asks again.

Valtiel presses herself closer to Phinks as she hears Chrollo's quiet hum.

"If she wants to come, then she can." His eyes never leave the pages of his book. He is as stubborn as she is, pretending that nothing is wrong when in fact, everything is wrong and no one wants to admit their mistakes. He flips to another page, one hand to his chin. "She can switch places with anyone who's willing to stay behind," he adds as a condition, aware that none of the members is willing to be left behind.

"Okay!" Shalnark chirps and turns back to Valtiel. He hums and searches around the room for the unlucky victim. His eyes land on Phinks. He grins mischievously. "Okay, Phinks, you're out!"

"WHAT?!"

"You switch with Valtiel," Shal says. "You stay here with Paku."

"Why would I−" Phinks sputters as Shalnark already takes Valtiel by the hand and leads her out with Nobunaga and the magician in tow. He stomps his feet like an angry child. "Hey! I'm _not_ finished talking yet! I'm _not_ staying here!" He whirls to the throne. "Danchou−!"

Chrollo hides his face behind his book.

"Damn you guys to hell!" Phinks bellows after the others, while Pakunoda just rolls her eyes and sits herself on the window ledge. "I won't forget this! Next mission I'll do it myself!"

* * *

Machi is driving, while the others are stuffed in the van. Shalnark is fussing over with his phone and is watching a live feed from the security camera he hacked last night. Nobunaga is dozing off in his seat, head thrown back, mouth wide open for loud, gurgling snores. Feitan is sneering once more, nudging the samurai away before Nobunaga could fall on the smaller thief.

Valtiel, seated beside Feitan, peers back to the magician quite alone in the back. He is playing with his cards, absorbed in his own world. She decides to join him, taking careful steps.

"Hi."

"Oh." Amber eyes glimmer in the van's shadows. "Hello."

"Welcome to the Phantom Troupe," she says hesitantly. She is not a member. Is it fine if she welcomes a new member? Not one from the Spiders is complaining. It must be all right. She smiles and extends a hand to the magician. "My name is Valtiel. What's yours?"

"That's a pretty name," the magician murmurs to himself. He produces a black Joker and shuffles it over his long fingers. He offers the card to her, and when she tries to take it, the Joker turns into black, withered asphodel stalk. He smiles kindly when she gasps in amazement.

"My name is Hisoka."

"That's a strange name," she tells him.

"Valtiel−" Feitan's voice rumbles from the front. "Get back here. Stop talking to strangers."

"He's not a stranger," she counters. "Not anymore. His name is Hisoka."

"Guess what? I don't care. Come up front. We're getting close."

She sighs and catches Hisoka's secret smile. She slumps back to her former seat just as Machi forces the van into a sudden stop. Nobunaga all but flies across the van and bonks his head on the nearest window. Valtiel and Shalnark laugh as they climb down the vehicle.

Before them stands a fifty-story building. It looks old and abandoned, like their temporary base, with broken glass windows, debris, and multi-colored street art, most likely from teenager punks. The wind is arid in this part, as Nobunaga complains.

"Okay, team." Shalnark gathers everyone in a circle, like a sports team where he is the coach. "Our target is in that building. But! Instead of being hidden on one of those floors, the item is buried underground. About twenty-stories deep and over a hundred meters. We'll have to proceed to the deepest vault."

"What are we stealing again?" Nobunaga yawns.

"Diamonds," Machi answers. "They're illegally trafficking diamonds."

"Illegal or not, we here to take everything," Feitan says.

"Let's go, then." Shalnark leads them towards the front door. "I set up the security cameras yesterday. They always have guards posted on each floor but I thought we'll be fine."

On cue, a group of six armed soldiers appear by the doorway. They hold up black assault rifles, and are poised to launch grenades at them.

Shalnark blinks at his teammates; with a roll of his eyes, Feitan runs through the soldiers and beheads them without the use of his claws. The others push forward, but Valtiel, perpetually impressed, gapes at the dark-haired thief.

They take an elevator that leads underground. It is unbearably small, designed only to take three persons at a time. With six team members, they are forced to cramp inside the elevator, suffering with the lack of air and listening to the damned cheesy elevator music. Everyone tries not to squirm, but they still do, especially since Shalnark, Nobunaga, and Hisoka are all six-footers. Feitan grumbles beneath his bandana, squished between Nobunaga's back and Hisoka's biceps, while Machi and Valtiel turn their backs against the boys and stare blankly at the buttons.

Suddenly, the elevator stops. The lights flicker until they die down. Everyone looks expectantly at Shalnark.

He pulls out his phone and whistles. "Looks like we've got company," he muses. "They saw us from the elevator camera. A group of soldiers is trying to cut down the wires from above."

At that moment, the elevator quavers. A loud metallic clang sounds over their heads as well as hurried shouts of the soldiers. The wires are falling to the elevator's roof like anchors on a ship.

"We have about fifteen stories left to fall," Machi observes.

"It's actually a _faster_ way to get to the lowest floor," Shalnark says.

"Anyone wanna hold on to me?" Nobunaga teases.

"Ten thousand Jenny says Nobu will scream like a girl," Feitan says.

"Done," Machi returns.

"You guys are so disrespectful," Nobunaga snaps. "I can hear you, you know."

Again, the elevator trembles until the last wires snap. The floor beneath their feet gives way as the elevator free-falls several meters in a span of few seconds.

Valtiel screams at the sensation of falling, of being swallowed up in the darkness. It reminds her then, of a burning forest, of a stormy night, and of an abyss that took her. She screams like the way she screamed back then, delirious with fright. Then she feels a firm grip on her forearm, steadying her as they fall. Her golden eyes look up at Hisoka, and he smiles.

The elevator goes down and down−until Hisoka, thinking quickly, smashes the elevator door and sticks his pinkish aura onto the wall. The box jerks up and then down, and to a stop. Valtiel looks around the faces around her and laughs at Nobunaga's flyaway hair.

"I told you he'd scream," Feitan tells Machi. "You can send it into my account later."

Hisoka uses his aura and lays the box to the ground. Shalnark pries the doors open and they find themselves in the lowest floor indeed, in a long hallway with road lights on the corners.

At the end of the hallway, there is a massive vault with seven different locking mechanisms. Machi purses her lips and taps at the steel door. The metal clangs and echoes.

"Where's everybody?" Valtiel searches around the hallway. "Where are the soldiers?"

"On their way," Feitan answers. "From there." He points to the emergency exit on the far corner of the place.

"I count about fifty, seventy," Nobunaga says, his mastery in En a great asset in missions. "They're coming towards us in high speeds. Several weapons included. Shal, think you can work with the vault while Machi and I take care of the soldiers?"

"No problem!" And Shalnark sets to work.

"Let's go, Machi−"

"Wait." Feitan's hand darts underneath his sleeves as he yanks Valtiel toward the samurai. "Take little girl. She needs fight experience, not babysitters." His friends give him incredulous looks. "She said she wants to help. She can help now. She finished Nen training with Danchou, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, that's right," Machi says wearily. "You can go in my place, Val."

"A-Are you sure?" Valtiel blanches as Nobunaga starts dragging her towards the emergency exit. "Wait! I haven't fought anyone in a _real_ fight before! Can't I have a simulation or something?"

Shalnark laughs. "Maybe I'll design one for you in the future, Val! For now, stick to the guinea pig soldiers! Have fun, you two!" He waves a hand as Nobu shuts the door behind them.

Valtiel follows the samurai into the darkness. Behind the door is another hallway and a short flight of steps that leads to the floor above. Nobunaga switches the lights on and scratches his belly. Valtiel, worrying about the upcoming confrontation, paces back and forth as if a caged lion in distress.

"They're here." Nobunaga stretches and unsheathes his katana. He raises an eyebrow at the pale young woman and says, "You know, since you finished your training, it won't hurt if you use your ability. It's good practice for you, kiddo." He discards his sword and stands aside.

"Oh, you're joking," Valtiel deadpans.

The door across the hallway bursts open and a sea of green-clad soldiers stream inside.

Nobu chuckles. "All yours, kid."

"You!" The leader of the pack points an assault rifle at their faces. "Who the hell are you?!"

"The Phantom Troupe," Nobu answers.

"Tch. Never heard of you!"

"Oh?" Nobunaga's mouth drops in surprise. "Oh, well, that's okay. I'm not offended. Are you offended, Val?" Confused, she shakes her head and he shrugs. "Yeah, we're not offended. We're cool, man."

Valtiel takes a deep breath and starts walking toward the soldiers. They raise their rifles in unison, all aiming at her head. She opens and closes her hands, feels the rush of her blood down to her fingertips. She has once chance to take them down. Her feet dig into the ground, her body bent and her gravity low.

The general growls. "Fre−"

And Valtiel pounces to the center of the group.

A golden sphere bursts out of her and slowly engulfs the entire crowd.

The soldiers go slack under the influence of her aura, their mouths agape and their eyes open yet unseeing. In their stillness, she takes out her claws and disables the general first−breaking his body from joint to joint, shattering the bones of his thighs and feet. When she finishes, barely two seconds have passed. She turns back to an astounded Nobunaga.

"Nobu-san," she calls out, "could you finish the others? You have eight seconds left."

Without telling twice, Nobunaga takes his sword and slashes around the swarm of soldiers. He cuts them in half with frightening ease, and finishes a second before the golden sphere dissipates like steam.

"−eze−!" The general finishes his sentence and falls limp to the floor.

"Woah," Nobu breathes and blinks at his companion. "Was that your ability?"

"It is," she says, beaming. "Did I do well, Nobu-san?"

"Are you kidding me?!" He drapes an arm across her shoulders as they walk back to the group. "That was impressive! I didn't understand what you did but it was _incredible_!"

They reunite with the other members and Nobu keeps gushing at them. "You guys should have seen it!"

"Seen what?" Machi asks. "Are you two done already?"

"Hell yeah!" Nobunaga grins at her face.

"Not even minute passed," notes Feitan.

"Guess who made it possible? Little kiddo here!" Nobunaga pokes at her cheek and Valtiel sighs at the samurai's sudden enthusiasm. Who would have thought that the usually grumpy Nobunaga has a brighter, more childish side in him? "You guys really should have seen it. It was awesome."

"Is everyone dead though?" Shal asks, still tinkering with the vault.

"Dead and on their way to hell," Nobu confirms.

"Good. Now help me with the steel door." Shalnark steps aside and wipes at his forehead. "It's made from Rhialton steel, very hard and tough. Maybe your Nen-enhanced sword can cut through it. Hisoka's playing cards and Machi's threads certainly cannot."

After a few quick nicks, the vault door falls open.

Everyone steps inside and admires the winking diamonds in their glass cages. Some are small as pebbles and gathered together inside a transparent net. One is as large as a tennis ball, its luminous silver hue shimmering. The largest in the collection is a deep blue diamond with the size of a melon. The Spiders gawk at the glittering beauty and understand now why their Danchou wants it.

They take everything and stuff them into sacks. On their way out, they stop to consider.

"The elevator's broken," says Shalnark. "Should we take the stairs?"

"I hate stairs," Nobunaga grumbles.

"Me, too," Valtiel murmurs, not glowing at the idea of climbing twenty-stories. She would barely make it three floors before collapsing. The others would leave her behind.

"Well, what do you guys suggest?" Machi sighs. "We don't have a choice but the stairs."

"Actually," Hisoka starts to speak up, "I have an idea."

"Anyone who is _not_ a magician?" Machi retorts.

"So I have this idea," Hisoka continues. His team members glare daggers at him and he grins back. "If everyone could only get back into the elevator, then it would be great."

Grumbling to themselves, the Spiders plus Valtiel squeeze inside the small space again.

Hisoka stands by the door and smashes the box's roof. He jumps onto the edge and starts flicking his wrist. At Feitan's insistence, Valtiel uses Gyo; she could see a pair of thick threads on either side of the wall. The aura latches several meters above the box, and stretches downwards as Hisoka sticks the other ends on the elevator's roof. Then he jumps back to join them inside.

"Everyone ready?" he asks exuberantly.

More grumbles answer him. He winks at Valtiel and says, "Hold on to me."

Valtiel clamps her mouth shut and keeps her hands to herself. Hisoka giggles, then snaps his fingers.

The elevator ricochets so hard everyone inside stumbles on their feet. The force of it is twice as fast and strong than they were falling half an hour ago. The Spiders hold on to their treasures, and Valtiel, having nothing to hold on to, finds herself gripping Hisoka's arm and using him to steady herself from the surge. The rollercoaster ride ends as the box flies from its hinges, smashes through several floors, and soars through the night skies.

The Spiders leap out of the box in time. Valtiel, more focused on falling than landing on her feet, feels someone's strong arms behind her back and under her knees. When her gaze steadies and the nausea ebbs, she looks up at Hisoka's beaming face.

Quietly, the two of them stare at each other for a while.

Feitan growls. "Val, get off the clown. You don't know where its hands have been."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Hoo boy! Took me longer than intended to update this story. My sincerest apologies, friends! I literally had NO day off for three weeks straight until today. I had to fished every other thing I needed to do before editing and publishing. I hope some HisoVal (yes, I'm coining that term now!) moments are enough to compensate for the long wait. HisoVal moments... and some ChroVal angst.

Sooo... how did Hisoka's introduction to the Troupe and the story go? I am a bit skeptical because Hisoka is such an interesting yet complex character, and this would be my first time writing his character. He's one of my (and my dad's) absolute favorite HXH character, so I'd really appreciate opinions/suggestions how to make his characterization in this story on-point with Togashi's writing. As for now, I love writing Hisoka and Valtiel together. Such contrasts−him a bloodthirsty killer and her an innocent soul.

* _ **xenocanaan**_ \- Rest in Peace in pieces once more, Pairo!

* _ **Aurora Clarion**_ \- Pfft! Danchou has been a jerk since Day One but that's okay! Hisoka's here to save the day! I live for a scene where Hisoka's just sexually (and playfully) harassing Val and everyone in the Troupe just sighs, and grumbles, and there might be some curses and thrown chairs at Hisoka's general direction. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Adultrio x Val, you say? Oh! I can see it perfectly! Definitely Hisoka will be fine and excited about the concept, Illumi (who for some reason likes Val?) might get possessive and controlling, and Chrollo will be the only one with a sliver of rational thinking and take Val away from the chaos. It's funny, chaotic, difficult, and ten times more exasperating−for Chrollo! XD

* _ **Amy**_ \- ChroVal fluff? Nope! Those two are still going through the prideful, angsty road like a pair of teenagers. *rolls eyes* If there's no ChroVal fluff, we're more likely to have HisoVal fluff instead (initiated by Hisoka himself, definitely). And you're right about an AdultrioxOC story... there are too many characters involved for one OC to suffer them all. Besides, Val's already deeply into Chrollo and vice versa. Hisoka shenanigans though?! Oh, you bet! ;)

* _ **HuangShaotian0005**_ \- Val's not dying in front of Chrollo... unless Chrollo himself kills her. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Okay... Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Now I'm doing a major concern about our girl Val.

* _ **Eric**_ \- Sorry it took so long! Hoping you enjoy this chapter!

* _ **Mia Mena**_ \- The era of ChroVal has come to an end. Please welcome the dawn of a new era: HisoVal.

* _ **ChroVal**_ \- I really don't have an update schedule because my work schedule sucks! :'( By the way, are you, by any chance, considering to change your username now that Hisoka's here? Haha.

* _ **Loool**_ \- Waiiiiitt a minute! Were you the same person who left a comment in the AO3 version of this story? You share the same username. If you are, very nice to see you here! Join the shenanigans with us!

P.S. Any more suggestions to make this story more chaotic are welcome! (Not that I want Val to suffer more but...)

See you guys next update!


	27. Chapter XXVII

**Chapter XXVII**

* * *

Every successful mission warrants a celebration.

On their way to the base, the team ransacks a grocery store and fills the van with a swarm of junk foods, chocolate bars, sodas, and beer containers. Then they empty a bakery and steal all its pastries and puddings. By the time they return, two hours have passed since the mission, and the skies are streaked with the purples and pinks of a nearing sunrise.

Chrollo congratulates them. He steps down from his throne and joins his friends in the celebration, seated with them in a large circle and clinking beers with Shalnark. They feast on the food while the stolen diamonds are sprawled across the floor in front of them. Chrollo's eyes are drawn to the precious gems, more intent on looking at them rather than a certain Kurta.

Feeling out of place in their celebration, Valtiel takes the chocolate bars and eats behind the circle. Not too close to intrude in their bonding. Not too far from Hisoka. She peeps at the magician under her lashes, watching him absorbed in his own world again and stacking his cards to a pyramid. She glances once at the Troupe, all entertaining Chrollo, and decides it better to stay away from them altogether.

"Are you not hungry?" She turns to Hisoka, her back against the Spiders. "There's a lot more."

"No, thank you. I ate before I came here," he says.

"What did you eat?"

He spares her a sideways glance and smirks. "Oh, I would rather not tell you," he drawls. "It might frighten you and you won't come near me again." Over her head, he senses the leader's attention on them both, though his dark eyes are on his friends. Hisoka grins at the valuable information. "Why are you not with your friends?"

She shakes her head and bites down on her chocolate instead.

He flicks the top of the pyramid and the cards crash down. He chuckles as he gathers them to him. "You think you don't belong?" he suggests. Again, she says nothing and he pushes onward, much to her chagrin. He gives her a rare thoughtful look. "You disposed most of the enemies yet I don't see them chattering with you and saying 'hurray'?"

"No, you won't see them doing that." She smiles, convinced of her words. She feels a heavy gaze on her back; and when she turns, still careful to avoid Chrollo's line of sight, she sees Machi observing her and the magician together. Valtiel decides to change her friendly tone. "So, Hisoka-san, where are you from?"

"Somewhere far."

"And where do you plan to go after this?"

"Someplace thrilling."

"You're very eloquent, aren't you?"

Hisoka's amber eyes linger on Machi's scathing expression. "Have you heard of Heaven's Arena?" he asks Valtiel. Her blink and raised eyebrow confirms his suspicions. He shuffles his card and pushes a King of Diamonds towards her. "It is a battle temple for fighters all over the world. I had only recently heard of it, and now I would like to try it for myself."

"Heaven's Arena." She bites on the chocolate again, melting it on her tongue. "Sounds interesting."

"It is." He nods and adds another card on the floor. Ace of Hearts. "Thousands of martial artists challenge there every day and over a billion of spectators. If you advance high enough on the floors, you can win at least ten million after the first one-hundred fifty floors."

"Really?" She perks up, brightened.

"Why, yes."

Valtiel fights the urge to glance at the Spiders. She remembers−distinctly−that Chrollo promised she could continue her plans of building a school in Meteor City after her Nen training. Her Nen training is finished, she is here, Chrollo is here−but he is not looking at her and she would not look at him. She bites her lip and racks her mind how to get her ideas into action. When her grandfather had worried about the cost, Chrollo had promised the Phantom Troupe would take care of it. Given her non-speaking terms with the man himself, she could hardly ask them to start providing.

"You can come with me if you want," Hisoka mumbles, as if reading her mind.

"What?" She shoots him an incredulous look. "What did you say?"

"You can come with me," he says exaggeratedly slowly, "if you want."

"That's absurd," she says a bit louder, drawing Feitan's attention. She shrinks and scoots closer to the magician. She does not want them eavesdropping. She does not want their attention this time.

"Absurd?" Hisoka repeats, innocent. "Why?"

 _Because I have never been on my own before_.

She gazes out of the window where the skies have turned into the bright golden of sunrise. It is a new day, with so much to hope for.

 _I have never known any other company than Danchou or the Troupe members. And if I start now…_

She looks harder at the sunlit skies. It is a new day, with so much to hope for.

 _Yes, maybe this time I can be on my own…_

An hour later, everyone lazes on the floor, full and sleepy. Chrollo perches back to the throne and takes a new book from the stack at his feet. Shalnark tinkers with his laptop and pushes the screen to Pakunoda and Machi, inviting them to a certain place.

When they decide to go together, Shalnark whirls to Valtiel. "You should come with us, Val!"

She blinks from her daydreaming. "Come? Where?"

"Here!" Shalnark crawls towards her and drags his laptop along. He shows her a website of a metropolitan district, with futuristic museums, department stores, and an observatory for the stars. "It's in Ardan Isles, off coast of Begerosse. That's at least a nine-hour flight from here."

"Oh." Valtiel only nods. "That's nice."

"Will you come with us? You've never been on a trip with us, have you?" Shalnark continues, oblivious to her sudden tension, and keeps on his monologue. "You're always with Danchou! You should try coming with us! We're more fun to be around, I promise!"

"Oh, I don't doubt it," she answers meeker.

Shalnark notices her discomfort. His bright smile vanishes and at once, he is concerned. He scoots closer and peers down on her bowed head. "Hey, Val, are you okay? Did I say something wrong?"

Phinks yawns and rolls to his side, using his arm as a pillow. "Probably you offended her," he tells his friend, and then looks at Valtiel. "Hey, you feel like crying, doll face?"

"Ah! That reminds me!" Nobunaga sits up straighter and whirls to the throne. "Danchou, did you know that Phinks made her cry before we came h−"

"Shut up!" Phinks throws empty beer bottles at the samurai's head. "Don't listen to him, Danchou!"

"No, I am not going to cry," Valtiel interrupts them from brawling. The two Spiders give her surprised glances. She puffs her cheeks indignantly. "I am hardly going to cry about something!"

"Good," Phinks says that as end of the argument, but still throws one last bottle at the samurai. Nobunaga yawns and dodges the attack with his eyes closed. Phinks makes a face and slumps back on the cold stone floor, muttering another curse as his eyes close.

"I would love to go on a trip with you guys," Valtiel tells Shalnark, "but I have already promised I would come with Hisoka-san."

There is a collective "What the hell?" coming from the Spiders.

Nobunaga squints his eyes at the Kurta. "You're not serious, are you?" He purses his lips and squints harder and closer. He sees no lies in her eyes. He blinks. "Oh, wait? You're serious? Really?" He nudges Machi with his elbow. "Is she serious?"

Machi sighs and nudges him backwards. "So what if she is?" Then she turns to the subject and narrows bright blue eyes at her. "Are you sure you should be going with someone like him?"

"Why, Machi-san?" Valtiel returns. The sarcasm lingers beneath her pleasant voice. "What is someone like Hisoka-san like?"

"We don't know him well enough," Machi states, matter-of-fact. "You should travel with members you're more familiar with."

 _But who, I wonder?_ Valtiel quite remembers that she has limited interactions with the Troupe, and not everyone is welcoming to her in the first place. She has only ever been with the Danchou… She shakes her head, trying hard not to keep thinking about the man. She just smiles at Machi and says nothing.

Shalnark scratches the back of his head, defeated. "Well, maybe it was a first come, first serve basis. Hisoka beat us all out of it. Oh well!" Cheerful as always, he shuts his laptop and grins at Valtiel. "So, when do you guys plan on leaving?"

"I am not sure…" Valtiel turns to Hisoka for an answer.

The magician gleams at her. "We can go right now."

Even she is not prepared for that. "Right now? Like… _now_? Is it not too soon?"

"Well, the mission is over and Danchou said we can scatter afterwards, right?" Hisoka stands from the stone and makes a little show of stretching his hips and legs. All the other Spiders are glaring at him. He basks in his moment of triumph, when the Spiders' own plaything chooses a stranger over them.

Glancing at the throne and seeing the leader's face in shadow despite the early morning, Hisoka knows he has just won a great price from them all.

Down on the floor, Valtiel is still gaping at him.

He smiles and offers a hand. "It's a new day," he says, catching her off-guard with his words. "It's better to start a new day and fill it with hope."

It sounds cheesy for his taste, but the young woman actually considers his words and stands, her small hand in his. He yanks her up hard and her body glides towards him. Surprised, she could not find her balance and falls against the length of his body, her face buried in his chest. When she looks up, Hisoka looks down on her and smirks.

Irritated groans fill the room. Machi glares as if she would tear off the magician's limbs from touching their Danchou's treasure. Feitan is in the middle of standing up, bristling, when Pakunoda rolls her eyes and tugs at his black sleeve. Hisoka giggles at their reactions and lets Valtiel go.

"Should we go now?" he asks her.

"Better to start early," she says.

"Then we're going." Hisoka turns for the hallway without a glance at the leader. He knows he would see Chrollo again. Perhaps not soon, but he still will.

Valtiel follows behind him, and so the rest of the Spiders. Outside, the sun is already high in the skies. It makes the old, decaying castle somewhat better.

The Spiders say farewell at the main gates.

"You have our numbers, right? Call us anytime, anywhere. We'd be there!" Shalnark promises.

"I still think you should have agreed to come with us," Pakunoda says. Her brown eyes linger to where the enigmatic new member of the Troupe disappeared to.

She embraces Valtiel and gets a glimpse of her recent memories−dark days in the house, nights spent crying, Pairo bloody and dead in Phinks's grip. She steps away from the Kurta and bites back a gasp, wondering how Valtiel could muster a warm smile as she says goodbye to Nobunaga next.

"Listen, kiddo. If anyone touches you, kill them," Nobu advises.

"A lot of people would bump into me," Valtiel says reasonably. "That would leave dozens of corpses behind."

"That's the entire point," Feitan says. "I taught you claws. Use them."

"And if trash clown over there tries to cop a feel on you, you break his neck. Hard," Phinks adds.

"Don't trust him," Machi says, her instinct against this newcomer prominent. "I certainly wouldn't."

"I'll be the judge of that," Valtiel answers.

Then, to her utter surprise, the Spiders embrace her one-by-one. First Machi; they are the same height and Machi's petite body feels warm yet hard against her. Pakunoda embraces her again, hoping for another glimpse in the girl's memories; this time, she sees a sunset and a beach. Shalnark's smile is so bright it might put the sun to shame; he embraces her around the waist and spins her around. Nobunaga snorts and gives an awkward hug, barely touching her, his hand awkwardly patting at her shoulder.

Phinks and Feitan are arguing who should go next. In the end, Phinks goes and pats her head instead of an embrace. That's far too intimate, not to mention cheesy, for his liking. He just pats her like a puppy and steps back again.

Feitan pulls down his skull bandana. "Kill. Practice. Don't die−those are your priorities in their _exact_ order."

"Yes, yes, I will miss you, too, Fei-san." Valtiel smothers her laugh as Feitan makes a disgusted face.

"Should we go?" Hisoka prompts. With Shalnark's permission, they could use the extra car, leaving the van behind for them to use. The magician leans on the car's roof and smiles on everyone.

"I would see everyone next time, okay?" Valtiel gives them one last wave before joining Hisoka.

"Ah! Wait!" Shalnark calls out. "Aren't you going to say goodbye to Danchou?"

Valtiel freezes, her hand on the car's door. She looks over her shoulder and sees the Troupe members making way for their leader. Her heart becomes heavy again when she begrudgingly turns around. She stands at arm's length away from him, her eyes glued to the silver button at his throat, her arms stiff by her sides. The world around her dissipates. Like it has been for the past year, she could feel nothing but the Danchou.

Chrollo's own eyes are on her white blazer with golden trimmings. This is the first time he notices her change of clothes, from her usual sundresses to a white leather ensemble of blazer and pants, paired with black knee-high boots. He takes his time just glossing over her appearance, never trailing upwards to her face.

This is the moment. They both know they have to say something. Everyone would notice something is wrong between them if no one speaks. Chrollo wants to spare himself from unwanted questions. He opens his mouth−but Valtiel cuts him first.

"Goodbye, Danchou," she whispers under her breath, almost inaudible. Chrollo would need to step closer if he wants to hear, but he remains planted to the ground. She swallows the lump in her throat and still does not dare looking up. She does not want to see the hostility in his eyes.

"Goodbye, and thank you very much. For everything. I am forever grateful for everything you've done for me… And…" Her voice breaks. _No, no, don't show weakness. He hates that in you. Everyone does._ "And… I am so sorry for everything else."

He tightens his jaw. She makes it sound as if they would not see each other again. As if this is something that would last forever. To Chrollo, there is no such thing as forever. There is only now, and he would seize every moment of it.

"You are always welcome," he hears himself say in his usual gentle tone. He notices how Valtiel flinches at the tone, as if she has not heard that a thousand times before. What does she expect from him? Finally, he decides to look at her face, beautiful under the morning light.

"I thank you," she mutters humbly.

"Be careful out there. I will miss you."

At that claim, she is so surprised that she also looks up. Her wide eyes are on his face. The sun is in his eyes, like they had been during that fateful sunset. Upon seeing his face, she remembers the warmth swell in her heart, how his smiles would make her heart skip a beat. Then she nods and turns away for the car, for Hisoka who is patiently waiting for her to say her goodbyes.

She settles into the car and stares ahead. She does not trust herself if she turns back for the Spiders. If Danchou has been more persuasive and asked her to stay, she might have gone back to him in a flash. Her habit of dependence and devotion towards him are strong enough to make her stay.

But Chrollo never asks her to stay. Instead of showing a little effort, perhaps claim how it might be dangerous to go with a complete stranger, he never _asks_. He lets her go as if they have not spent the past year together, living in a cozy home.

Shalnark and Pakunoda are waving as the car wheels out of the castle's courtyard and under the archway. In the rearview mirror, she watches the Spiders wait until the car is out of their sights. Her rigid demeanor fades away, tired of playing the stubborn one when all she wants is a sign that Danchou has forgiven her. He does not, for he never asked her to stay. Now she is on her way, on her own−away from the Spiders, for the first time since her accident.

Hisoka hums a cheery tune as he drives. She observes his jester ensemble: black-and-gold with high-heeled shoes and combed back red-purple hair. He appears quite ridiculous, but fascinating at the same time. A good change of scenery and atmosphere as well from the rambunctious Spiders.

"If you feel like crying, you can," he says out of blue.

"What?"

"You almost seem to be crying," he points out. "Gonna miss Danchou, are you?"

She snorts and peers out of the window. The green fields stretch to the far side, followed by a thin river that shimmers under the sunlight. Another good change of scenery.

"Are you Danchou's pet or something?"

"Excuse me?" Now that's going too far. She shoots him a quick glare and he smiles back. "I am no one's pet. Not the Spiders. Not Danchou." She narrows her eyes. "Certainly not yours."

"Oh, no, you misunderstand me. I'm not going to make you my pet."

"Then what?"

"You'll be my unripe fruit until the day you are not," he says in his enigmatic ramblings that now both confuses and draws her curiosity. "You're unripe now because the Troupe members pass you to one after the other. You're weak now because they are wary to see you grow so strong." Then he smiles, mostly to himself. "But with me, you'll ripen. One day, it will be your turn to fight."

She rolls her eyes and taps him on the wrist.

Suddenly, Hisoka swerves the car violently to the right and the car jerks, bounces off the road, and topples over the grains in the farmlands. Valtiel screams and braces herself on her seat, while the magician throws his head back, laughs, and drives the car back to the road.

Once the car is running smoothly again, he gazes towards her and finds her pale and panting. That kind of scared face warrants a laugh.

"What was that for?!"

"You hit me," he says with a whine.

"I _tapped_ you!"

Hisoka just grins.

Valtiel scoots away as far as the seat could allow. _I traded Fei-san's harshness for this magician's crazy._

* * *

Back at the castle grounds, the leader and his Troupe members still gather even when the car has disappeared for quite a while already. No one has it in mind to leave from their post, somewhat expecting for the Kurta girl to come back to her senses and realize that she is safer with the Troupe than with the magician. Yet as the sun rises ever higher in the skies, the songbirds already finishing their songs, they acknowledge that Valtiel is indeed gone and out of reach.

"I miss her already," Shalnark whines. "I knew I should have asked her out first."

"She will come back," Phinks predicts. "When she gets tired of that clown, she'll come running back to us and say her sorry for even thinking of _freaking_ leaving."

"I can't believe she just did that." Shalnark is still complaining and some of the others agree with nods: Nobunaga and Pakunoda. "It feels like our little girl is all grown up and is now going out into the world. She should have stayed behind for longer time with us…"

"Her Nen is impressive to say the least," says Nobunaga, the only one who had seen it in action. "It's not as refined as ours, but with enough practice and battle experience, she can rise to our ranks." He grins at Shalnark. "Not so little anymore."

Feitan scoffs. "Of course, she is. She cries, she whines, she bursts into tears at the slightest things. That makes her a little girl."

Phinks barks out a laugh at that description. "Damn, Fei, you're so cruel."

"But she will be back," Feitan says, much to Shalnark's delight for agreeing with him. "Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe three months from now. Maybe a year. But she will be back."

"Wanna bet?" Nobunaga scratches his cheek. "One million Jenny says she'll be back in a month."

"Three million in three months," Phinks says.

"You guys are so competitive," says Shalnark. "I'd stake six million for six months."

"Then twelve million for me within a year," Feitan chimes in. "What about Machi?"

The pink-haired Spider purses herself as if in deep thought. Her intuitions are almost always correct, which is why her friends always want to keep her out of betting games. She always wins. If not, she is always close to the truth. She shakes her head and says, "Twenty million if she returns for more than a year."

The others seem uncomfortable. Then Phinks says, "What about you, Paku?"

Pakunoda, whose attention has been focused on Valtiel's memories and relating them to their Danchou's sudden somber disposition, blinks from her deep thinking and chuckles. "I might pass for now."

"Suit yourself." Phinks shrugs as the Troupe members go back inside.

That only leaves Paku and Chrollo outside to stand.

She keeps her peace for the first few minutes, watching from behind as Chrollo gazes far across the courtyard. The wind stirs his black overcoat and the sunlight shines his combed back raven hair. He looks utterly peaceful, if not for the tightened jaw and the slight downward twitch at the corner of his lips. She knows then that she has to interfere, not to pry, but to comfort. She reaches out for the sleeve on his right arm and keeps the silence stretch.

At her calming touch, Chrollo's façade melts and he lets out a tired sigh. Dark eyes up ahead, he adjusts his right hand and slips it into Pakunoda's hand, holding her firmly in his grasp. The skin-to-skin contact sends her Nen ability into action, into a flurry of memories.

 _A sunset on a beach. Palm trees and candles. Valtiel in a white sundress._

 _The gifts. Gauntlets and blades. A mourning locket with hair and photo._

 _The nervous touch of lips. Valtiel's eyes closed and Chrollo's sudden response._

 _Shadows. Chrollo ignoring Pairo in the house. A tear slipping to his cheek as he leaves the locket behind._

Pakunoda gasps and abruptly removes her hand from his. She understands now. She understands everything. Their Danchou has been in a melancholy before the mission began. Valtiel and her sad eyes even when interacting with the Troupe members.

Chrollo turns his heels and pats his friend on the shoulder. Paku searches for his eyes. He smiles an empty smile and walks past her. She follows, feeling heavy in her heart, empathizing to both Chrollo and Valtiel.

In the throne room, the Spiders are playing a pebble game using the diamonds they stole.

"Shalnark," the leader calls as he strides back to his throne.

"Yes, Danchou?" A whine sticks into the younger Spider's voice. He is the one who proposed the game yet he is already losing to Machi and Feitan.

"You installed a tracking device in Valtiel's phone, did you not?"

"Sure did!" His whine turns into something of a proud tone, doing something that neither Machi nor Feitan are good at. He whips out his phone and laptop, and sits on the ground, fingers poised over his gadgets. "Should I track her down now? The chip I implanted can track her anywhere, as long as I am in the same continent as her. Overseas tracking is much more difficult."

"I would ask you to remove it."

"… What?" Shal blinks. Everyone gapes at their Danchou.

Chrollo sits back on his throne with his dark eyes boring through them. "Remove it," he orders. "I have no need of a tracker if I want to find Valtiel."

For the past year of studying her, he knows her well enough. He knows how her mind works and how her curiosity for the new and unknown can overwhelm her. Like now, with Hisoka. She might be fascinated now because she has never met anyone like him. When she realizes she has no other place in the world but with the Phantom Troupe, she will return.

"I can find her," Chrollo tells them. "Anywhere in the world."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Ach! Such a busy schedule! I sincerely thank everyone for their patience and for bearing with this unbearably long update.

In this chapter, we officially say farewell to ChroVal and welcome HisoVal into the club! I'm not entirely sure how everyone would take this... but I am excited to write Hisoka and Valtiel together. I've long since been a fan of Hisoka and to write his character is an absolute honor. You guys could expect more crazy antics with this guy around, and if have some suggestions to make things crazier, let me know! I'm also very excited to write about Heavens Arena! Basically, I am very excited to go back into writing after weeks of stress and heavy workload!

* **Aurora Clarion** \- Chrollo's holding onto the title of "Stubborn Jerk of the Year". He lost Val because of his pride, and even then he wouldn't even show remorse to his comrades. At this rate, with Val hanging out with Hisoka, Chrollo might lose points.

* **SummerBum95** \- Awesome! I love Hisoka too! Though you're looking forward for more ChroVal fluff, ChroVal is a bit out of place for now but I can surely give you HisoVal fluff (much to Hisoka's favor, of course). Thank you for leaving a review!

* **HuangShaotian0005** \- Aww, I love the individiual points you made about the Spiders. Nobu sure does appreciate Val's Nen and Feitan's the new mom friend. And I live for an overprotective Troupe members; they've always been so closely knitted and perhaps they've already considered Val a part of their small circle. Also, Valtiel should be about 19 years old here; she was 18 when the Kurta Clan was massacred and that was a year ago.

* **Amy** \- Lmao, Hisoka "hitting on" Val. He definitely is! He's such a flirt because he knows it rubs not only Chrollo, but the entire group, the wrong way. And this clown thrives off of other people's discomfort and irritation towards him. Haha! And Uvogin about Hisoka? Oh, I'm only too excited to write their first ever meeting!

* **Mia Mena, ChroVal, and Eric** \- Sorry for the long wait. Enjoy the chapter, my lovely friends!

Next chapters would be most likely center around Hisoka and Valtiel at Heavens Arena. Stay tuned for more shenanigans, Hisoka edition! 😂✌

See you all next time!💓


	28. Chapter XXVIII

**Chapter XXVIII**

* * *

"There it is. Heaven's Arena."

Valtiel stirs from where she is buried under a blanket given to her by a flight attendant. She pulls down the eye mask and yawns, and then blinks sleepily at Hisoka.

They have been on this flight for eight hours. The magician occupied himself with his playing cards and hummed a cheery tune that lulled Valtiel to sleep almost in an instant. She had been exhausted from the raid earlier that morning, and then was completely spent after her confrontation with the Danchou. Her cheeks burn in embarrassment upon remembering that part.

Instead, she decides to humor the magician and looks out of the window, only to see the temple for fighters that is, indeed, Heaven's Arena.

According to the flight attendant's tourist guide, the arena is the fourth tallest building in the world with 251 floors. Craning her neck to get a glimpse of the entire building from top to bottom, Valtiel has to agree. It is the tallest building she has seen _so far_.

"We can eat lunch before we get in line," Hisoka suggests.

"Line? What line?"

"There's always a line, at least that's what I've been told." He grins and plays a card between his fingers. He whips the black Joker at her face and she flicks it away with her index finger, feeling the card's sharp edge slice through her skin.

The card flies across the cabin and hits a passenger over Hisoka's shoulder, the card embedded deeply into the man's neck. The man goes limp in his seat, oblivious to what hit him.

Valtiel pulls the blanket over her head and shrinks as the flight attendant hustles to the dead passenger.

Hisoka is laughing again. He finds everything amusing that it is hard to strike a nerve in this one. Not like Nobunaga or Phinks: easy to annoy. The magician is all laughs and giggles. Always. Not that she minds.

"I heard there are thousands of fighters every day," he adds. "It'd be a long wait."

* * *

Upon disembarking, the pair finds a small fast food restaurant near the airport. Valtiel's eyes are wide with wonder, poring over the restaurant's ambiance and menu at the front. When is the last time she has been in a fast food before? Did she and Chrollo _ever_ eat in one? She couldn't remember, and she could care less now. At almost three in the afternoon, she is hungry and she shuffles to a seat while Hisoka orders some food.

She blinks down at the tray of burgers and fries. She is used to Chrollo's fancy steaks and venison. She watches as the magician eats the food, and then she smiles to herself and follows his lead.

An hour later, they proceed to the arena's base and wait for the long line to finish. It takes them another two hours to register, before being led to the first floor. Valtiel gapes from the top of the staircase, counting sixteen rings, each with different ongoing fights. She follows at Hisoka's heel like a puppy afraid to be lost and sits at his right with nervous hands on her lap.

"You look pale," he observes.

"I have never really fought anyone before," she says. "And the one during the raid does not count," she cuts him off, before he could say anything. "I have only ever practiced with my teacher and sometimes Fei-san." She feels small in this place, surrounded by rigid-faced bulky men.

"You're always so nervous." He laughs again, tapping his heel on the marble ground. "Fidgeting like a little robin. Are you sure you should be here? Not with Danchou and the others?"

"I told you once and I will tell you again. I am not−"

"Numbers 1824 and 5002 to Ring C!"

The blood in her face immediately drains. Hisoka throws his head back and laughs.

She shoots him a little glare before standing and joining her opponent in the said ring.

To her utmost relief, her opponent is not one of those burly men, but rather a lean one, with a mass of curling brown hair and lanky build. Almost like Bono-san. The man assumes his stance, and so she does as well.

Her opponent lunges, quick like a snake, and jabs at her direction. Valtiel blocks each with her fingers curled and her fore-knuckles as deterrents, and strikes back by striking the man's most vulnerable part: his throat.

The man coughs and wraps one hand around his neck. He hisses at her and keeps lunging, to which Valtiel keeps defending herself and striking when the opportunity arises. At the man's last attempt for a butterfly kick, she bends low and grabs him by the knee.

Palms flat over the joint there, she breaks the joint and the man spasms in great pain. He falls to the ground, clutching his left knee now twisted in a strange angle. She looms over him and breaks more joints: his other knee and two elbows. His scream dies down as the referee declares Valtiel as the winner.

"You can advance to the 50th floor," the referee says.

"Oh, can I proceed to the 20th instead?"

The referee raises an eyebrow, but just nods and hands her a paper.

Hisoka is clapping as she goes back to him. "Impressive. What did you do?"

She makes a face, sinking to the seat. "Just broke the joints, made sure he's disabled."

"Joints? Which ones?"

"Here, I'll show you." She turns him around to face her and pinpoints. "Here, the elbows, the knees. Akamu-san always made sure I go for the major ones. It makes sure the opponents stay down." Hisoka nods like a diligent student under her tutoring. She continues: "The joints in the shoulders and hips are also good, but if I want to kill an opponent, I should go for the head."

She cups his cheeks and gently pretends twisting his head off his spine. She leans away, smiling.

Hisoka nods again, thoughtful. "I want to try that next time," he says. "One piece of advice though."

"Yes?"

"Don't tell others your fighting style. You're so gullible, it's very cute."

"Oh, very well." She frowns, though she does not blame him. He does have a point.

"Numbers 865 and 5003 to Ring L!"

"Whoops!" Hisoka stands excitedly. "That's me!"

"Good luck," she calls out after him, wondering how the magician would do against his opponent.

She has watched him fight once, against Omokage, and Hisoka has the speed and the wit in battle to overwhelm his opponents. Omokage stood no chance, though the other Spiders said the puppeteer let himself to be defeated, to get out of the Troupe. She does not understand that part at least. Why would Omokage want to leave? And what is the talk of him completing his puppets? It sounds a bit disconcerting to her, uncertain how his abilities work. According to Danchou, Omokage is a Specialist, and it is only right to fear Specialists with unpredictable abilities.

"Number 5003! Advance to the 190th floor!"

 _Wait._ She squints at Ring C and finds the magician already sauntering back to her. _Finished already?_

Hisoka waves the paper. "Let's go. Which floor are you on?"

"You're finished?"

"Why, yes."

"But… so quick?"

"Oh, that's one thing I don't hear often."

She blushes at the damned implication.

"What happened to your fight?"

"Like you told me." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. His opponent lies supine on the floor, head twisted and gnarled like a tree root. "Broke the joints in his neck to kill him. Your technique is very useful. So−" He waves the paper at her face again. "Which floor?"

"Oh, I have 20 next."

For the first time, his voice is serious. "You're joking."

She laughs and flashes the paper. "I requested the referee to send me to the 20s. I like to take all the floors, if you don't mind."

He blinks again, uncomprehending and rather unamused. This is the first time she breaks through his cheery demeanor. She has to admit, the feeling of triumph is sweet.

"I'd like to see what it's like fighting on every floor, even if I don't win all matches. Just for the fun of it, I suppose."

"Okay, then." He glances at his paper and slumps. "I have 190th floor."

"You should go to it."

"And leave you behind? Not-so-Eyebrow Man will kill me. What's his name?"

She gurgles with laughter. "Phink-san!"

Hisoka's amber eyes gleam, mischievous. "Yes, him. And then there's Topknot guy, too." He starts ticking off the Spiders in his fingers. "There's Miss Congeniality, Tech-savvy Boy, and Darker than Black emo kid, and of course, Machi. They will kill me in the next mission if they find out I deserted you here."

"So you remembered no one else's name except Machi-san's?"

"Oh, and Danchou, too. Chrollo Lucilfer." He licks his lips.

"You're so bad with groups, are you not?"

"I don't do well in big groups," he agrees. "Though I can work with pairs." He winks.

"But then you will have to meet Uvo-san and the others," she continues, taking his wink in stride.

"You will have to introduce me to them. I'm quite a shy person."

"Says the one who twisted someone's head."

He smiles innocently. "I have my reservations."

* * *

In the end, Hisoka skips his 190th floor match and waits for Valtiel as she completes all her matches from the 20th floor to the 100th floor. She would have to return tomorrow morning for her next match, while Hisoka keeps declining his own matches, missing three in a row. It unsettles the Heaven's Arena management and he receives a call that evening.

"It seems they are forcing me on a match tomorrow," he tells her after the call has ended. They are staying in one of the small lobbies on the hundredth floor, intending to spend the night there on the couch. Most of the fighters are sleeping here as well. "Do you think I should accept it?"

"Of course you should. You missed three already. They will ban you from participating ever again if you keep playing around." She yawns and curls up on the couch shared with two other fighters. Hisoka is sitting cross-legged on the floor, entertained by his card pyramid.

"Then I shall fight tomorrow," he decides. "Will you cheer for me?"

"What do you need cheering for?" she mumbles, fighting off sleep to talk to this restless magician. Now that she thinks of it, she has never seen him sleep. His eyes are always open, guard hiked up at the max−befitting the latest Phantom Troupe member.

"I need friends," he says with a little whine. "I need to know someone is out there cheering for me."

"Okay. Whatever." She pulls the blanket over her head and drifts off to sleep. She could feel Hisoka's long claws patting her over the fabric. His movements are slow and soft, as if lulling a kitten to sleep.

"So you will cheer for me?"

"Yes, yes, Hisoka-san. Let me sleep. I have around ten more matches tomorrow."

He hums and keeps patting, trailing sharp claws over her jawline. It tickles her. "Ah, yes, you have matches as well. You can count on me cheering for you, Valtiel."

"I don't doubt it."

* * *

Her 180th floor opponent gave her a rather hard time. The man was an exiled knight−or so he told her for the last thirty-seven times during their battle−and battered her with blows on the forearms before she broke the fingers of his both hands, then twisted his shoulders off their sockets. She wondered if Feitan would be proud if she told him how she broke the knight's fingers, always starting with the pinky, just like he always instructed her.

Nevertheless, she is inside an elevator now, on her way to the 190th floor, cradling her aching forearms and standing right next to a cute little boy in a purple hoodie.

She steals glances at him and wonders how someone so young and small could fight in such a violent place. She notes stark silver hair, long and wild, reaching the boy's shoulders. He has his hands inside his hoodie pocket, with his azure eyes looking boredly ahead.

"What are you staring at?" he suddenly snaps at her.

She flinches and tears her gaze away, embarrassed. "Nothing," she mumbles. She glances once more, testing the waters, and the boy still looks bored. "You're very young."

"And you're very obnoxious," he points out.

"I doubt you even know how to spell obnoxious."

The boy jerks and looks up at her. Instead of annoyance, she sees amusement reflected in his azure eyes, made brighter by the light in the elevator. He smirks at her retort and she smiles back, feeling at ease in his presence now.

"What's your name?" she asks. "I'm Valtiel."

"I know," he says, haughty.

"How would you know?"

"I keep tabs on everyone I might fight on my way to the top floor."

The elevator dings and he steps out, with Valtiel following closely behind. The 190th floor signage is large and bright at the lobby.

"But not everyone, though," he adds. "Just the ones with potential, including you and your clown buddy. It's unfair. You guys started yesterday and already here, while it took me two months to get on the 50th."

"Two months? Then how long have you been here?" She leads the way to the waiting room for the fighters.

"Almost two years." He settles on the seat next to her and holds out one hand. "I'm Killua, by the way."

"Then you started very young," she says, still in awe of this little boy.

The way he stares around the burly fighters in complete boredom says something about his confidence. She wishes she has the same level of confidence, but with her battered forearms and purple bruises on the shoulders, she hopes her next opponent would not be as much troublesome. Hisoka is waiting for her somewhere on this floor. After her match, she is supposed to regroup with him so they can register together for the 200th floor.

"You're thinking why someone so young shouldn't be here, huh?" Killua muses.

"Um, yes." She nips at her lip. "When I was your age−" She stops then, painfully reminding herself that her memories are not hers to share, simply for she remembers only half of them. The other half is still in the dark, triggered only by certain names or words. "Never mind," she recovers.

"I wish they'd let us fight."

"I don't." She frowns at the thought of it: losing to a little boy.

"Why not?" Killua grins up at her. "It'd be an interesting fight. You and your clown buddy are probably the most interesting fighters in the last three months. I am not in the same caliber as your friend, but maybe I can take you on and defeat you." Again, he grins, that innocent cheeky grin kids always do. "No offense."

The loudspeaker crackles: "Killua and Ross, please report to the 198th floor, Arena B."

Killua stands and sticks his tongue out. "Pfft. Guess we're not fighting then."

"Good luck!"

"Yeah, I don't need it." He waves a hand and disappears behind a door.

 _Of course you don't._ Valtiel finds one of the large television screens mounted on the wall and waits for Killua's match.

His opponent is already in the ring: a marauder. The crowd cheers when Killua approaches the ring, fixing his larger opponent with the same blank stare, as if he could will himself somewhere else than here. The referee explains the rules and bids the match begin.

Valtiel studies the marauder's movements, light despite his hulking build. Yet Killua is faster, more cunning, and more deadly. The boy sidesteps every blow and rounds towards the marauder's back, hitting the back of his neck with a quick, powerful chop. Killua lands gracefully on the floor, while the referee declares his win as a total knockout. The crowd bursts into loud cheering. Killua's only indication of his triumph is a nod towards the audience.

Again, the loudspeaker crackles: "Harun and Valtiel, to the 198th floor, Arena B, please."

Surprised that she is fighting next, Valtiel scrambles out of the waiting room and rushes across the long bright hallway. She blinks as she notices Killua at the other end, with the boy breaking into a victorious grin at her. She ruffles his silver hair as she passes, hearing something akin to a quiet laugh from the boy.

Her opponent is another large man, roughly the same build as Uvogin. He wears an iron skullcap with cheekpieces and mail neck guard. He sneers beneath his helmet as his slight opponent heaves herself up onto the platform and takes a defensive stance. He cackles at that, amused that she is already on the defensive upon seeing the difference in size.

 _How am I to defeat_ _ **that**_ _?_ Valtiel studies the man's entire physique: helmet and neck guard, shirtless, with iron gauntlets and sabatons. Though he is scarcely clothed, his muscles ripple throughout his body, cords of braided iron for arms and legs. She gulps then, not enchanted to meet her early demise to this guy.

 _I probably cannot meet him head-on_ , she still ponders. _Not in close combat, either. It will be like hurling myself into the eye of a storm. But Akamu-san did not teach me how to fight head-on. I am trained to disable. Joints, bones, maybe even the softer parts._

Harun tightens his fist and slams it into his palm. She gulps again, deaf to the referee's announcement.

 _I have to disable him somehow._

"Fight begin!"

Harun charges at her like a stampeding bull, all heavy torso and thundering footsteps. He aims for a right hook, which Valtiel dodges at the last moment, and then delivers a stronger uppercut that sends Valtiel flying across the arena. She rolls to the floor in great waves, the stone crushing beneath her weight and Harun's force. When she tries to stand, Harun is above her again, smashing both fists onto her back.

She chokes on blood and spit as Harun steps back a little, no doubt enjoying her moment of weakness. Somewhere behind them, the referee is giving away points. Harun's shadow looms over her head and his fist tightens.

 _I cannot take that again. He'll crush me._

As his fist descends, she rolls out his the way again, still on the defensive, arms up to shield her face. Harun slaps her so hard she feels her bones cracking. A little defensive aura around herself saves her from suffering a broken neck.

She receives every brunt of his punches with Ren as her defense. Harun is strong and relentless, and she guesses he is one of those fighters whose philosophy is to strike fast and strike often. She studies his movements between her arms.

 _There_ , she notes as Harun slaps her again. She falls back on her haunches and keeps her arms up defensively. _When he raises his arm for an attack, there is a small gap in his shoulder. I can exploit that, but how?_

The armored man gives chase and punches the ground. Flurries of white rocks explode under his fist.

 _Should I use my ability?_ She pants and tries to catch her breath. _No, I can't. Not in this crowd. It'_ _s_ _too early._

Harun trudges towards her. The referee declares the points as 9-0. One more clean hit and Valtiel is out of the challenge. She would have to suffer in the 180th floor again.

As her opponent aims for another right hook, Valtiel pounces out of the way and wraps herself around Harun's muscled right arm. Her legs around his wrist, her hands forcing his boulder-like shoulder into submission, twisting it from its socket with a hard pull. Harun reaches out for her and so she twists again, dangling upside-down around his arm. She makes quick work with her claws, shoving an entire hand into the soft, vulnerable flesh of his armpit.

Blood gushes from the wound, but she is far from finished. With her second hand, her claws dig into the open wound and tears through the flesh. She finds the bone of his shoulder easily and yanks it from its socket. Harun howls like a beast in pain and falls to his knees, his right arm limp and bloody at his side.

Valtiel pants and wipes at her face, smearing herself with his blood. She rounds towards his left, golden eyes locked upon his brown eyes, as she reaches for his other shoulder and gives another pull. The joint cracks beneath his tanned skin. The claws of her right hand shoves once more into the flesh, tearing veins and flesh the way both Akamu and Feitan taught is best.

The match ends with Harun collapsing to the floor. The crowd goes wild and chants her name.

Only then does the enchantment break. She shoots the referee a nervous look. "Is he dead?"

"Yeah. Ruptured insides and some broken bones."

Damn Feitan would have been so proud of that.

The referee gives her a ticket to the 200th floor. "Congratulations."

She thanks him with a meek smile and sighs tiredly. Did Hisoka watch the fight? Well, she would know soon enough. The magician should be waiting for her somewhere. All she needs to do is find him.

At the hallway intersection that leads to the 200th floor, Killua is waiting for her.

"You were great," he says by way of greeting. "And you can use claws? I never knew anyone else who can do the same thing! I thought it was just my brothers and me for our training. Awesome!"

"My training for the claws was not so easy."

 _Understatement_. It was a nightmare with Feitan sneering at her every step of the way. On top of that, she had Akamu's life on the line. She would never forget that harsh moment of her life. She peers down on this boy and knows for sure he couldn't have gone under the same harsh treatment. His face and eyes are bright with the natural wonder of children.

"We should head straight for the next floor," Killua suggests. "More powerful fighters there."

As they turn, they both feel something malicious.

At the end of the hallway, a young man stands. Killua instinctively growls at the sight of him.

Shoulder-length jet-black hair. Black eyes. Pale moon-white skin. He stands to block the elevator that leads to the 200th floor. He studies them both, standing close side-by-side. His blank mask reveals nothing of his thoughts, and he only tips his head to the side, as if inquiring, his black locks falling over one shoulder.

When he speaks, his voice is cold and sharp. "Killu, what did I tell you about making friends?"

"I gotta tell you she's not really my friend," Killua fires back, balling his fists in his sides. "Move, Aniki. You're making us late for our matches."

"If she's not your friend, then certainly you wouldn't mind my disposing of her." He produces needles from behind his back. They gleam under the fluorescent light.

"Leave us alone," Killua keeps growling.

"Us," his brother repeats, as if the word is foreign. Round black eyes stare deeply into Valtiel's terrified expression. He almost chuckles. " **Us** … I don't like that word when you're with someone else, Killu. How many times do I have to tell you... _drill_ it into you?"

He takes a step closer and Killua freezes on the spot. His brother smiles, devoid of any emotion. "You have no right to make friends."

In a blur of pitch-black, the brother is already upon Valtiel's face. He punches her in the gut, knocking the breath out of her. His force sends her through the ceiling, breaking through several floors. He gives chase and pounces after her, needles at the ready. Below them, Killua is screaming for them to stop.

Valtiel's gaze continues to blur as she coughs more blood. Her latest opponent is faster than any others she has encountered in Heaven's Arena; he cuts her off in mid-air and knees her in the gut again, this time hurling her towards the arena's eastern wing. She slams through ceilings and walls, the electric cables and fluorescent lights destroyed along the way. She surrounds herself with aura and forces herself into a stop, claws digging into the floor as she slows down.

Her entire body spasms from pain, both from Harun's attacks and from Killua's brother. Her platinum-blonde braid comes undone from the onslaught. She watches between the strands as the brother approaches her with cold grace, a predator closing in on his prey.

He kicks her in the stomach, forcing another bout of retching blood. Her vision blurs all the more, as the man picks her up by the neck and holds her high above his own head. He slams her against the wall−once, twice−spreading spidercracks across the stone. Her blood oozes from the gash, staining her hair and dripping to her shoulders.

She gasps when his hand tightens around her neck. She could feel her windpipe giving away from his sheer strength. On instinct, she wraps her hands around his wrist, claws outstretched, digging long red lines across his otherwise unblemished alabaster skin.

The man narrows his eyes, his only indication of pain perhaps. She could not really tell; her vision is blurring and is slowly turning into red.

"Don't you ever come near my brother again," he says in a quiet voice.

Blood gurgles in her mouth. As much as she would like to speak, retort some snide comments, her blood prevents her to do so. Her aura flow is steady and her desperation to get out of his grip both urges her to spit blood onto his nonchalant face. He closes his eyes briefly to ward off the pathetic assault. In that brief moment, Valtiel dispels her aura from her body, creating a crimson sphere around themselves.

Despite her failing vision, she sees how the man stops completely in his tracks. His hold on her neither strengthens nor relaxes; his black eyes do not flicker despite the assault. He is still like a mannequin, but only for a tenth of a second. The sphere disintegrates and the man starts moving again, confused about his momentary lapse.

He shakes his head. Blood drips from his nose, though he is entirely unperturbed. He takes one of his large needles.

"You have lovely eyes," he says and hovers his needle above her left eye. "Pretty red ones. I should like to take that home as a souvenir."

As the needle descends, a card comes flying out of nowhere and flicks the needle out of the man's grasp.

Killua's brother frowns as he pounces backwards from someone else's attacks. The lights flicker overhead, making an enigmatic show as the other person stands over the young woman's limp figure on the floor.

"I would like to ask you to handle her with care," Hisoka drawls. He sensually licks at an Ace of Hearts. "She's very fragile and I was asked to babysit her. My employers will kill me if she is harmed more than she is now."

"Yeah, right." Valtiel coughs blood on the carpet. She writhes on the floor and clutches her aching stomach.

"Oh. I thought you're out cold." Hisoka giggles, amber eyes gleaming down at her, before turning back to their black-haired opponent. He cocks his head to the side, red-purple hair glinting under the light. "You are a very strong fighter. If you'd like to fight me, it'd really be great."

"I am not interesting in fighting you," says the other man. He points at Valtiel with another needle. "I want her life, for overstepping her boundaries in talking to a Zoldyck. I want her head on a platter."

"Medium or well done?"

The dark-haired man blinks, unimpressed.

Hisoka pouts. "You're not fun. You don't get my jokes."

The other man blinks again. "So, can I kill her?"

"Stop, Illumi!" Killua arrives on the scene. His azure eyes dart back and forth: to the destroyed ceilings and furniture, the blood on the wall, to the clown standing over Valtiel writhing on the ground. He snarls, a low rumble deep in his chest, and blocks his brother's pathway. "That's enough, Illumi! You're out of control!"

"You dare lecture me, Killu?" Illumi's voice drops into low snarling. It tenses Killua more. "You lecture me about control when it is you who disobeyed by orders."

"No! She's not my friend in the first place," Killua reiterates. His cheeks are red, his eyes glassy. For all his haughtiness earlier, he is just an eight-year-old boy. He gives his brother a pleading look. "Please… There's no need for this… Let's just go… Let them go."

Illumi stares at the magician again.

Hisoka grins back, wide and cheerful. "You should go," he suggests. "It's probably the best. If you won't let her go, then I will take your brother as hostage and we will have to make a trade so late in the evening. You know I can make that happen."

To cement his point, he surrounds himself with a dark foreboding aura that makes Valtiel flinch and Killua jump behind his brother for protection.

"I understand." Illumi nods. The dark pink aura dissipates from the magician. "I will not risk my brother's safety for that woman." He puts a protective hand over Killua's silver hair. "But if your woman so much as talks to my brother again, I will take her tongue for that."

"Will keep that in mind," Hisoka says as the two brothers retreat. "Oh, and my name is Hisoka, by the way!"

"I don't care," Illumi says dryly.

They are gone after a few moments.

Hisoka giggles to himself, "What a lovely pair," before crouching next to Valtiel and pushing some of her locks away from her face. He whistles, amused. "Wow. Look at yourself, Val. You always look so prim and proper that I think you're incapable of looking like shit." Then he slaps a hand over his mouth. "Oh, no. I didn't mean to say some _obscene_ words. I bet Danchou wouldn't let you hear them. Or does he?"

Valtiel glares at him. "Help me up. If you won't, just be quiet for a moment."

Still giggling, the magician smooths her hair back and scoops her up in his arms. He gazes down on her, glossing over the cuts and bruises on her forehead and cheeks. Her blood still oozes from the gash where Illumi had slammed her on the wall.

But his attention is on her eyes, half-lidded and framed by thick pale lashes. "That's weird," he muses as he carries her out of the destroyed room. "I thought your eyes were yellow, or gold. They're different now."

She nods, exhausted to the core, and rests her head against his shoulder. "I know," she murmurs. "Even I don't know how it happens."

* * *

They find a corner on the 200th floor where Valtiel could clear herself of blood and fix her hair, before proceeding to the register. At Hisoka's insistence, he magically produces a handkerchief with which to wipe her blood. He flicks his hands and wrists to and fro, the bloodied kerchief rolling between his fingers. With a gentle blow, the kerchief disappears and the blood turns into small crimson butterflies.

"You are very theatric, are you not?" Valtiel notes on the way to the register.

"But of course." He chuckles. "As always."

"Welcome to the 200s!" A female employee gushes over the counter. She wears the usual bright pink uniform and hat of every employee in the arena. "Please fill out this registration form!"

As Hisoka bends down to his paper, Valtiel blinks at the employee. "Another registration form? Why?"

"Yes, yes! The 200s require another form because this time, Heaven's Arena is not liable for any injuries or deaths you may suffer!"

"I am already injured now," Valtiel points out. "And I am not yet fighting on the 200th floor. Is the management not liable to tend to my injuries?"

"Um, well, no…" The employee's voice quietens in her defeat. Hisoka just snickers at the exchange.

"Well, that rule is very unhelpful, is it not?" Valtiel sighs and proceeds to work on her registration form, while Hisoka has already finished and waves the paper as he waits for her. She eyes every information needed, but halts at a particular one, her pen poised over the line.

He blinks over her head. _Last name._ He noticed that yesterday she hesitated putting her last name as well. He hums and taps a long nail on the counter. "Can't spell your last name, dear?" he purrs.

The tease and the endearment remind her of someone else. She hides her face from the magician's teasing as she shrugs and passes the form to the employee, leaving her last name blank as she did yesterday.

She turns to face him. "Oh, I must not have mentioned it before," she says. "I had an accident and lost some of my memories−but I remember the most important ones now," she adds quickly. "I only have troubles remembering certain events and people…"

"That would make a very good bedtime story," he drawls, turning towards the hallway behind, "but later, perhaps. We have company."

A man and a woman are standing close together. They are like mirrors to each other: the same dark brown hair, green eyes, and olive skin. The man is wearing a martial artist's garb of white robe and red sash, while the woman wears a red-orange crop top and grass skirt with multi-colored floral belt.

The man levels Hisoka and Valtiel with an even stare. "Good evening. We are called the Mercurial Twins. My name is Cato."

"And I am Arianne," the sister adds.

"Right." Hisoka nods, cheerful as ever. "And they call us the Diabolical Duo. I am a magician called Hisoka−" He jerks a thumb to his companion's direction−"and this is my pretty assistant, Bazooka."

She rolls her eyes and nudges him with her elbow. "I'm Valtiel, and I am not his assistant."

The twins glance at each other, leering.

"We are here to welcome you to the 200s," says Cato. "We have been watching your fights and decided that both of you will be our next opponents."

"We're planning to welcome you through Nen," Arianne adds, licking lush lips, "but it seems both of you are already Nen masters of your own. It should make our fights interesting."

"Do you agree to fight?" A thin sheet of aura surrounds Cato and extends to his sister.

"If we say no, you're still going to force us anyway," Hisoka says with a soft laugh.

"Exactly." Cato's aura evaporates upwards. "If we can agree to a schedule now, you can fight my sister. And I will fight her, your companion."

"I can fight whenever you want me to," Hisoka says.

"Tomorrow then," Arianne rules. "You and I in the arena, magician."

"I'll look forward to it."

"And the day after that." Cato searches for Valtiel's eyes. Green upon gold. "You and I."

"Of course." Valtiel wonders if she could recover that fast. "You and I."

"Then it's settled." Cato and Arianne spare them one last glances before turning to a corner.

The tension in the atmosphere recedes then. The female employee clears her throat and presents them pair with one key. "I am very sorry, but there have been major problems with our rooms tonight. Most of the eastern wing was destroyed by an earlier confrontation between fighters. Right now, we are encouraging fighters to share rooms until we can finish the eastern wing's reconstruction."

Valtiel dips her head. Her and Illumi's fault. "We'll take the room."

"Oh?" Hisoka's lips slowly curl into a smirk. "Sharing a room with me, Val? Is that even safe?"

"If you want to sleep outside, be my guest, Hisoka-san." She receives the key and heads straight to the left, to room 2044. The magician follows at her heels.

Upon opening the room, she gapes at the luxurious interior, from the gleaming chandelier to the velvet carpet, an enormous bed, kitchen, and bathroom. There is an entire window to the left, overlooking the city below and revealing the midnight skies above. She runs a hand over the smooth pillows and gazes out in the horizon. It feels being inside a five-star hotel−exceedingly different from the home she shared with Chrollo, with their small bed and vintage furniture, the swing in the porch. She misses that life, the warmth and simplicity, but then remembers she cannot go back to that time anymore, after her one fatal mistake including someone with dark hair and answers to Danchou.

Hisoka feigns a tired sigh and slides from the wall to the carpet, legs outstretched before him. "If you want, you can take a shower first. You look so haggard, Val. I bet the Spiders won't even recognize you."

She studies her reflection in the window and laughs. Somehow, she looks worse than her training days with Akamu and Feitan. Grabbing a towel and robe from the closet, she locks herself in the bathroom and rids herself of two days' worth of sweat, dust, and blood that mingle together to create an unpleasant smell.

After her, it is the magician's turn. She eases herself onto the gigantic bed and brushes her long hair, working on the tangles. She checks on her phone every now and then, waiting for the Spiders to send her a message. So far, she has received only one−from Shalnark−with a photo attached.

 _15:38 Shal-san: Touchdown, Ardan Isles! (Open attached file)_

The photo reveals Shalnark between Machi and Pakunoda, the three of them posing in front of a white futuristic mausoleum with a domed roof. Shalnark has the biggest, brightest smile, while Paku smiles softly and Machi crosses her arms and smirks.

 _15:39 Shal-san: Wish you were here, Val!_

It warms her to know that someone actually wants her company, unlike someone else she knows, whose name shall not be repeated today. The very mention and thought of this one man−who shall not be named twice−quite puts her mood down. When she had asked for his apology and he accepted, she thought it was the end of the awkward tension. But no, this man never asked her to stay and she would not want to stay with someone who does not want her presence in the first place.

As her mind goes back to the recent events, the magician steps out of the bathroom, naked but for the white towel wrapped loosely about his hips.

Valtiel stares at the exposed body as she brushes her hair. When Hisoka shifts ever so slightly and she realizes that she has been staring, she snorts and turns away.

"You like what you see?" Hisoka teases. He leans on the bathroom's doorframe and folds his arms.

"Don't be so cliché, Hisoka-san." She huffs. "I've seen something like that before."

"Ah. Let me guess. Chrollo?"

Her eyebrow twitches. He whose name shall not be repeated is mentioned again. "It doesn't matter who," she retorts, her little nose up and her eyes closed. "The point is: there is no need to flaunt yourself like so. Get dressed or people might get ideas."

He chuckles while fetching a robe for himself. "I should like to give people ideas," he backfires. "You're beautiful, and I have superhuman good looks, if I do say so myself." He shrugs the robe on and combs his fingers through his damp hair. "I think we will make quite a charming pair. The Diabolical Duo, remember?"

She wrinkles her nose in distaste. "That sounds very awful."

"Does it?" He grins from ear-to-ear. "Couldn't tell."

"You look different with your hair down like that," she murmurs, still combing her own locks.

"You like it?" Hisoka grabs an extra mattress, pillows, and blanket from the closet and prepares his own bed on the floor. His red-purple hair falls over his shoulders. "Or do you like it only because it reminds you of a certain someone?"

"Definitely not." She rolls her eyes, and then blinks. She peers down at him over the bed's edge. "What are you doing on the floor? You do know the bed is large enough to accommodate four people, right?"

"Oh, that would be improper." He stretches and folds his arms beneath his head. "Did you really think we'd share a bed, Val? That's a pretty cute thought−but no. The Spiders will kill me." He scratches his chest, the robe falling open wider, boasting a muscular chest and torso rippling with muscles. "Maybe next time, when we know each other much better. I'd let you sleep next to me." And he winks.

"Forget I ever asked," Valtiel groans and turns off the lamp on the bedside table. She settles herself on the bed, aching limbs stretched as far as they could go. Her eyes are on the chandelier. "I'm so tired."

"You promised to tell me about your memory loss," he murmured in the darkness.

"Do you really want to hear something like that?" she shoots back, exhausted.

"Tell me a story."

In the darkness, she laughs and peeps down at him again. "Shall I tell you the story of my childhood? I am afraid it won't make a great story. I don't remember much of it, and it is always about the Spiders."

Hisoka's amber eyes catch the silver moonlight. They gleam in the shadows. "Tell me about the day you lost your memories," he requests. "Was it in an accident?"

"An accident, yes. But not in a normal accident. I fell from a very high cliff to save a friend."

"Interesting. Tell me more."

"Oh, very well then." Valtiel starts recounting the night of rain and blood. She finds the change of ambiance quiet pleasing. She is used to reading books and sharing her ideas, but tonight she is the storyteller and she has an attentive audience listening to every word.

Going far back, she is used to fancy restaurants and dinner, but since yesterday she eats cheap burgers and fries. She is used to someone else's gaze critically observing her every step, but ever since she left she has never felt someone else's attention on her.

As her story comes to an end, way past midnight, she believes leaving the Phantom Troupe behind is her very best decision.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** *nervous laughter* Okay... I might have forgotten to update my stories for some weeks... My apologies, everyone! Everything's gotten so busy with real life and I didn't even realize that October is upon us! Which means... Halloween costumes! I've been deciding between a hotdog, a dinosaur, or either Alluka, Kikyo, or Kalluto actually. I was leaning towards Alluka or Kalluto because I'm dark-haired, but then I also kinda want to wear a Victorian dress and let's be honest... Kikyo's visor is awesome. So yeah, I'm stressing over my costume. All suggestions would be highly appreciated!

And since it took me forever to update, I'm gifting all my patient *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧FRIENDS *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ this very long chapter to make up for the wait. Hold on, there's more—I have also finally included my all-time favorite Zoldycks (S̶o̶r̶r̶y̶ ̶S̶i̶l̶v̶a̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶Z̶e̶n̶o̶!̶) in this story! It took forever to get Killua and Illumi into this story that it hurts my fangirl heart. But now that they're here, LET THE CHAOS BEGIN!

Also, I'm running short on time to reply to everyone's reviews from the last chapter, but know that I love all of you and I believe in you guys! Whatever you're going through, you can make it! I hope you're all enjoying your weekend!

See you all next chapter!


	29. Chapter XXIX

**Chapter XXIX**

* * *

"Look at this crowd!" The Heaven's Arena announcer gestures towards the hard-packed stage. People are cheering and waving their hands at the camera. "This is today's most awaited match! After his two-day domination through the first 190 floors, here he is! The magician−Hisoka!"

In the arena, Hisoka stands calm and poised. He wears a purple top and pants, trimmed with gold at the sides, and paired with golden armbands.

The announcer continues: "His opponent is none other than the second half of the Mercurial Twins! Boasting a 2-1 record with both wins in a total knockout! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: Arianne!"

Arianne smiles and waves at the crowd, sending them into a frenzy. She wears her red-orange top and green grass skirt, with a garland of flowers atop her dark brown hair and around her hips. She stands barefoot, confident and sneering at her opponent.

"I will have you know," she drawls, fingers brushing over her skirt, "this match is mine."

"I don't intend to lose as well," Hisoka says. "I have someone cheering for me." Amber eyes glance to the crowd, easily spotting where Valtiel sits at the front-row. He has procured a front-row seat especially for her, so she could see the full extent of his performance today. "Losing is not something I tolerate."

"You're just a beginner," she snaps and takes her stance: knees bent, hands up.

"Your training experience has nothing to do with strength," he says, voice gentle and humble.

Between them, the referee signals the start of the fight.

Hisoka chuckles and spreads his arms in an open gesture. "By all means, ladies first."

"You will regret that, clown!" Arianne crosses the distance between them and reaches out to grab his wrist. She is met with the magician's own knee, striking onto her left side. She recovers enough to somersault and land deftly on her feet. Blood trickles from the short cut in her stomach.

The magician gives her enough time to recover from his first blow, before rushing over with the face of a madman. He licks his lips and reaches for her shoulders, his long nails hoping to dig into her olive skin, but Arianne's hands meet with his own, their fingers intertwined. They push back at each other, like sumo wrestlers in a ring, but Hisoka's strength is superior. He pushes her back with easy steps, while Arianne grits her teeth and digs the balls of her heel onto the ground.

Hisoka keeps pushing, seemingly intent to overwhelm her through brute strength. Arianne is late to realize that he is forcing her out of the ring. Though there are no rules against leaving the ring, she could not give him the upper hand.

Still hand-clasped, with the magician's face so close to hers that she could see the glare of the light reflecting in his amber eyes, Arianne twists her hands and holds Hisoka around the wrist, and then activates her Nen ability. The searing heat of her ability forces the magician backwards, back to the center of the ring. He looks perplexed, eyes down to observe the numbered marks on his wrist.

In the audience, Valtiel could barely keep her calm. She sits on the edge of her seat, worried for Hisoka, despite knowing that her worry must be unfounded. He defeated Omokage. He is part of the Phantom Troupe now. He accomplished things she herself could not accomplish within a year. Her eyes are forever on the ring, Gyo dancing in her eyes, as Arianne saunters towards the confused magician.

"You should not have come close," Arianne tells Hisoka, hands on her hips, lips curled into a triumphant grin. A light red brand glows around the wrists where she had held him. "This is my ability."

"Is this the part where you will narrate everything about your ability and its restrictions?" Hisoka blinks at her, innocent. He smiles and pretends looking at a watch. "I mean, I can certainly hear you out. We have enough time for a sob backstory and everything else you'd like to share."

"You talk too much." Arianne bares white teeth at him. "How about you figure it out on your own?"

"Oh, no problem!" he chirps and stares down at his wrists again. Two bands wrap around them, light red and quite warm. Not enough to hurt like it did when she touched him. He rolls his wrist here and there, testing the brand, but nothing happens. He can feel nothing. Again, he blinks up at her.

She assumes her stance again, ready to rush at him. "I suppose I should just demonstrate," she says as she lunges, head-on. The magician stands idle and waits for her to come, incensing her even further. Her temper flares at his calm demeanor. Growling, she punches him repeatedly on the right arm, which he lifts to his face to block her attacks. Then she pounces back again, to see the pain register in his face.

Hisoka feels the prickling sensation in his wrist. It trails down to his fingertips, pooling there like an electrified puddle, and then it spreads upwards, to his forearm and elbow, sending a sensation with a mixture of numbness and electricity. His skin tingles, goosebumps rising. It feels as if he is being electrified by the brand, and it sends thousands of his nerves awake−and in pain.

Arianne attacks again while he is preoccupied. She batters his left forearm, before jumping back again.

The tingling sensation doubles, both of his arms buzzing with pain. Soon, the numbness spreads to his entire arms, up to his shoulders, where he could not feel anything else but the pain. Hisoka blinks and opens and closes his fist; at the slightest movement, the electrifying sensation jolts throughout his hand, making him hiss. He glowers and looks up at Arianne.

"Your ability is pain," he observes.

"Manipulating your nerve centers, more like," she corrects, careless. "What else?"

"The brand is the starting point. You have to hold your targets before stamping the brand."

"It connects to the nerve centers in your arms, yes," she answers. "And distributes the pain throughout the body. It can only do much when around someone's wrist," she adds with a shrug. "The nerve centers in one's wrist are not as powerful and deterring as somewhere else."

"I wonder where it is most hurtful," he singsongs. His arms spasm again, unexpectedly so, and his breath whistles through gritted teeth as he falls to his knees. His opponent looms over him, her shadow casting a long silhouette behind her. Still, he manages a grin. "Will you brand me on the nape, Arianne?"

"No. I watched your fights yesterday." Her hand darts out, quick as a bullet, and lies flat on his left thigh. The red brand gleams as it circles across the limb. She delivers another punch there, sending her ability into action, more nerves ignited with searing pain.

The magician's face contorts from the three-way pain. She purses her lips and stands over him, lifting his chin so he could face her. By her calculations, both of his arms and left leg are certainly useless now, occupied with numbness and discomfort combined. As she lifts his chin, she finds that he is grinning, eyes in narrow slits. She hisses and slaps him across the cheek. A fourth touch does not create a brand, but her slap is strong enough to make his pale skin grow light red from impact.

Hisoka laughs amidst the sea of pain in his limbs. He could not feel his fingers or thigh; could not even move an inch without doubling the pain. Yet he laughs as his pieces are already in place. Again, he searches through the crowd, spots the unmistakable clump of platinum-blonde hair, and winks at her direction.

Despite the distance, he could see her sudden blush. He laughs to himself.

Arianne sneers. It seems to be her favorite facial expression. She leans down to level her green eyes with the magician's own. "What are you laughing at, stupid−"

He rams his forehead onto her nose, breaking the soft bones there, watching in pleasure as blood spurts while she doubles over in shock and pain.

"I don't need my arms and leg to defeat you," he says and winks again. His pinkish aura that he glued to her right palm contracts, forcing her back to him, with him ready to slam his forehead back to her face.

She puts her hands up for defense, but the magician rotates from his kneeling position and sends his right leg onto the woman's back. Arianne coughs, eyes wide. She rolls across the arena as Hisoka's aura tugs at her again, sticking her to the ground permanently while he limps, quite awkward, with his one good leg. His arms and left leg sway and trail behind him, useless.

Desperate, Arianne tugs at the hand stuck to the floor. She uses Gyo only then, shocked to see her entire hand surrounded by a glowing pink aura.

"This is my Bungee Gum," Hisoka says as he stands over her prone position. He spreads his lips into a dark and maniacal smile. He loves to see her squirming underneath him, reminding of a helpless rat. "It has the properties of both gum and rubber. And right now, you are pasted to the floor, unless your ability can also influence other people's aura."

"Bastard!" Her temper flares once more. She bares her teeth like a caged animal. "Let me go!"

"Of course." Hisoka snickers and crouches next to her. He leans close, his mouth to her ear. "I hope your twin brother is watching. I hope he will remember you."

He slams his heeled foot onto the back of her neck, pinning her to the floor. His aura extends to his foot and sticks Arianne on the ground by her neck. She squirms again, powerless and panicking in earnest now. Like a mount on a glued paper.

With a kind smile, the magician raises his foot. Arianne's eyes are on the sharp heel of his shoe.

"Well, goodbye now, little miss."

He drives the heel straight into her eyes, going through flesh and veins.

The crowd gasps and then hushes, their hands to their mouths at the butchery.

Then Hisoka turns expectantly at the referee. The man flinches and then declares, "Our winner, Hisoka!"

* * *

Unable to walk by himself without looking like a flimsy tube man, Hisoka asks Valtiel to carry him on her back, mustering his most persuasive puppy eyes to let her agree. She concedes with a defeated sigh, hoisting him over her back with his chin on her left shoulder, his numb arms held by her hands, and his legs trailing uselessly behind them.

"You're so heavy," Valtiel complains, already breaking into a sweat after a grand total of five steps. The magician is a six-footer to her measly five feet, and she could only guess that his weight is tripled, like a quarterback. "How can someone so lean be this heavy?"

"It must be my diet," he answers with a cheery hum. "I eat lots of carbohydrates in the mornings, proteins in lunches. Never forget your fruits and veggies in the evening, too!"

"Ah." She makes a face, not amused at the very least.

"I bet you don't eat as much as I do."

"I don't follow a strict diet. Mostly desserts and chocolates when I get my hands on them."

"That's why you're so soft." He shifts and bites softly at the skin on her shoulder. She yelps and he snickers. Her glare tells him she would drop him to the floor and leave him there for good. He relaxes again, behaving like a schoolboy. "You should eat more meat and lessen the sweets, Val. You will be a bowl of sunshine with a sprinkle of diabetes when you reach forty."

"Ha. Hilarious." She rolls her eyes.

"I can give you a recipe if you want."

"Sounds brilliant." Turning at an intersection, she glances at him. "What happened back there? With your fight with Arianne-san? She looked like she had the upper hand, but you defeated her in the last moment."

"It's nothing so special," he replies, somewhat humble. "I never figured out her ability until she started talking and I started feeling the pain. That, and the fact that she's very hot-blooded. I would have guessed her as an Emitter first, but her ability is a Manipulation kind. Therefore, I concluded she's a Manipulator with Emitter characteristics. That's how I figured some parts of her ability−emitting a brand to the target and using it as a medium with which to channel her pain-manipulating abilities."

"And you figured that out? Because of her characteristics?" she repeats, uncomprehending.

"Everyone has their own intricacies, but I always seem to notice that individuals who share the same Nen type have the same characteristics," he explains dutifully. "It's not very credible, but useful enough in some situations… Like my previous match…"

Curious, she tips her head to the side. "Will you tell me more?"

He chuckles indulgently. "Maybe I can guess your category," he offers, admiring the glint in her golden eyes as they walk under the long line of fluorescent lamps.

Her gaze is up ahead, though there's no wonder where her attention is.

"You have a heart, and you bring it everywhere with you. Show it to anyone. I'd say it's a mixture of passion and determination. It's an Enhancer trait; but one look at your nonexistent muscles and physical strength, you're not the Enhancer kind."

She snorts, yet thoughtful as she listens.

"But then you are also independent, at least now, after you left the Troupe's web," he continues. "You seem to like doing everything on your own, driven by curiosity, but you're not loathe sharing the experience with other people." He smirks wider. "A trait of a Specialist."

"You managed to read that from me after two days?"

"At first I was not really sure," he says. "Just a hunch. You can be independent but the Spiders hovering around you so close stop you from completely acting on your own. What does it feel like now? When you're thousands of miles away from their over-protective, over-critical attention?"

Despite herself, despite her reluctance to open up to someone who is practically a stranger to her, Valtiel nods. Even she could not lie to herself. Her memories are not her own, she does not know which ones are dreams and which ones are realities. Hisoka certainly has seen through her in a mere span of two days. She would not lie to herself again, for fear that she would never figure out herself.

With a little nod, she murmurs, "It feels nice."

He smiles, victorious yet again. "I thought so."

* * *

That night, they dine on beef sautéed in sauce with sour cream, and then partnered with a fish fillet with eggs, mushrooms, and champagne. The servers from the Arena have delivered the food at their doorstep, at six in the evening, a few hours after Hisoka's match. To Valtiel's relief, Arianne's ability wears off and the magician is back on his feet again. He showers, ridding himself of the "bad smell", before joining the young woman at the table in only his robes and nothing else.

Valtiel wolfs down the food in her plate. It has been a while since she has eaten something what she usually eats. Back in the small house, she is used to cooking simple meals for herself and… She shakes her head and hums at the tasty beef.

"Are you ready to fight tomorrow?" Hisoka asks, swirling his champagne in his glass.

"I might lose. Cato doesn't look like he will want to lose."

"True."

"And you gave him more reason to try and kill me." She narrows her eyes at him.

"That is also true."

"You are not making my Arena challenge any easier, Hisoka-san."

"Are you afraid then?" He rests his chin in his palm and tilts his head slightly.

Without his slicked back hair and the strange face paint under his eyes, he looks like a different person. A normal one. Someone Valtiel would pass in the streets and not think twice if he could kill her or not. Without his usual getup, Hisoka is rather charming, an opinion she would not dare voice out.

She sips at the champagne, and then sticks her tongue out in distaste. Hisoka grins.

"Just nervous. I never fought anyone of his kind yet. The ones from the lower floors are not Nen users, but Cato is."

"Is that why you're using Ren?" He grins. "Training yourself, Val?"

"It's a force of habit," she says with a little shrug. In the window's reflection, she notices the steam-like appearance of her aura, curling upwards like smoke. "Danchou made me use Ren continuously for twelve hours straight once. Needless to say, I almost died that same night."

"You're very fond of him, aren't you?" he pushes, changing the topic. He studies her reaction, the way her aura bursts a little more. She is tensed and he knows it. "And from what I can tell, he is fond of you, too."

"That's rich coming from the newest member of the Troupe," she retorts, misdirecting his attention. "Do you always try to figure people out in your spare time?"

"It keeps me occupied," he says. "And you never answered my question."

There is no misdirecting the curious magician. Damn it.

A knock on the door makes them both stop. Valtiel feels a slight tension hanging in the air. Instead of boosting her aura for defense, she nullifies it, overwhelmed by fear.

Across from her, Hisoka scowls and hides his face as he stands and crosses the room to answer the knocks. He peers through the peephole and finds no one.

Still scowling, he opens the door and finds a note pinned to the wood through a knife. He is careful not to show Valtiel the note or the knife. He reads the terse letter, eyes narrowed, before heaving a deep breath and immediately mustering a cheerful smile as he whirls back to her.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Oh, just some boy running around and playing pranks," he says. He finishes his champagne and saunters to his spot by the bed's floor, where his mattress, pillows, and blanket are in a messy heap. He eases himself onto the mattress and hugs a pillow between his head and arms. "No need to worry."

"That was some fierce aura from a boy," she says, suspicious.

"Some fighters are very strong in this floor. I won't be surprised if children are even very talented."

"Did you see his face? Might be Killua."

"No, it wasn't silver hair and pretty eyes."

Hisoka rolls on his back and sprawls across his makeshift bed, his leg perched up on the other, foot swishing in the air. The hems of his robe fall to the curve of his thigh, his smooth alabaster skin right there for her to see. He smirks, seductive, and snickers as Valtiel turns away to clear the dishes.

"You're so predictable."

"Forgive me if I am not much of an entertainment," she calls from the kitchens. "If you want someone unpredictable, I can think of twelve people whose unpredictability might be of some cheer to you." She leaves the dishes in the sink, not bothering to wash them, and crawls to the bed with a tired sigh.

"No, not at all," says a voice from below. "You're more than entertaining enough for me."

"I am honored." She turns off the lamp and curls under the blanket.

"Tell me a story."

"I already told you one last night."

"Tell me another one."

"Are you a child?" Sleepy golden eyes peer from the edge of the bed. Hisoka's eyes are closed, though his smile is ever present. In this rare moment of serenity, she feels the heaviness of her eyelids. She yawns and embraces a pillow, her head still at the edge, feeling for his movements.

"I'll tell you something I read in a book," she offers. "The story of a princess locked away in a tower."

"I like that," he murmurs.

She starts the story, having remembered it from one of the many book collections back in the house. In her dreamy state−slowly drifting off to sleep herself−if she would ever go back to that house again.

* * *

Her match with Cato is just as hard-packed as yesterday, with Hisoka against Arianne. She notices more people today though, men shouting for blood, well knowing that Valtiel is Hisoka's friend and that Cato would surely take vengeance for his twin sister. She expects as much hostility from him, standing across the arena and searching for his green eyes. They are alight with green fire, burning with such hatred that it makes her think twice about fighting him. His aura is impressive as it had been the first night they met, though now it burns with more determination to defeat her.

Cato is wearing a hooded robe over his white martial artist's clothes. Sparing no theatricals, he sheds his robe and flings it out of the arena, the deep and rich satin fabric shimmering under the light. He is barefoot, as his sister was before, with his dark brown hair trimmed in a buzz cut, pulling whatever strands of hair away from his rigid face.

Valtiel adjusts her own clothes: a deep blue jumpsuit with a low-cut neckline, something Hisoka unhelpfully found for her to replace her old white leather blazer and pants, smeared with dried blood for two days. She tugs at the sleeves, slashed with gold-and-black, and tucks her hair behind her ear. Her hair is pulled up into a long ponytail, tight and trailing to the middle of her back.

The referee looks at her, and then to Cato. With an acknowledging nod, he starts the fight.

Unlike Arianne, Cato wastes no time in talking. He immediately rushes in, one powerful kick on the stonefloor, breaking it as he plunges. He stretches both hands out and makes a grab for Valtiel's arm, but she dodges away, defensive instincts kicking in. He growls and follows after her, darting here and there as she keeps evading him. At the last turn, she puts up her right leg to a kick, which he receives head-on with one hand.

Her eyes widen as Cato catches her kick. Standing like a flamingo with one leg stretched out, Valtiel twists in his grasp and uses his hand as a leverage, heaving herself off the floor to deliver a roundhouse kick with her free leg. The man blocks the attack with his other arm and rams her to the floor, banging her head to the stone.

As he looms over her, Valtiel grits her teeth and sweeps her leg under Cato, robbing him of his balance. She forces herself to a stand, attempting to run away again, but Cato blocks her pathway and burdens her with a barrage of punches. She meets his swift punches with her own, misdirecting his fists or pushing them away from her vulnerable parts. Though she almost matches his speed, she is in no condition to match his physical strength. The exchange drains her energy after a few blows. She flexes her nails, claws retracting like a feline−but it seems the man has enough.

Cato jumps back, putting a good distance between them. All around, the crowd gasps in confusion.

She pants, swiping an arm over her sweating forehead. Her claws are out for him to see, though he does not seem troubled by them at least.

"What are you waiting for?" she taunts, searching for a hint of hesitation in him. She finds none when he all but smirks at her. _Perhaps taunting him is a bad idea, Val._

"My sister and I watched your fights," Cato says. "Yours and Hisoka's."

He sneers at the grim reminder of what happened yesterday. His little sister, dead by a heel through the eyes. Somewhere in this cheering crowd, he knows the magician is close enough to keep watch on his friend. How Cato wants to kill her, rip her apart, see that pretty face bloodied. Will Hisoka mourn for her?

"You have a very interesting martial art," he continues. Valtiel furrows her brows at him. "The martial art you are using… The one you've mastered and used to disable all of your opponents…" A deep green aura surrounds his entire body, boosting whatever Ten he has been using throughout the fight. He points an index finger at her direction. "That's Death Strike in its finest."

She nods in agreement. There is no need to lie. She could see the years upon years of training, written in his hard-lined face, the bulge of his muscles. She is nowhere near his years of experience and she nods again, in deference to his skill.

The twitch of his lips indicates he is amused. "How long have you trained?"

It is an easy question. She could still remember the night she slapped someone out of desperation, to plead for more time for someone else's life. That slap was a death sentence in itself.

"Two months."

Cato bobs his head. "I never trained in it," he says, his aura growing stronger. He feels the strength in him increase twice, thrice, until his aura could give no more. Still, it is enough to defeat her. "Never heard of Death Strike until now−much thanks to you."

While Valtiel is still mulling over his words, Cato rushes in again. He snatches her wrists and slams his forehead on her chin, the force of it reeling her into unconsciousness, and his hands wrap tightly around her elbow, fingers digging into the flesh and feeling for the bone, for the joint.

The horror dawns into her as he turns her own technique against her, breaking the joints of her elbows and then tossing her aside like a pile of trash. Valtiel winces at the sharp pain registering in her mind. Her elbows dangle in a strange position, hurting but not completely useless. She still has sensations in her fingers, numbing as they may be.

Again, Cato charges and Valtiel dodges in earnest. She cannot block his next barrage of attacks, not when he is using Death Strike for himself and she cannot use her arms to block.

 _Getting close to him is a death sentence_ , she berates herself, dodging and darting away across the arena. _I can't block, I can't fight back without risking another strike myself._

Cato's face darkens into a maniacal frenzy, intent on defeating her.

She scowls at him. _Shall I use my ability? Buy myself enough momentum to defeat him?_

Cato lands another punch when she sways at the end of the ring. His fore-knuckles ram to the vulnerable flesh at her throat and chest. The referee rewards him another clean hit. The standing: 3-0.

The pain in her arms never ebbs away. Instead, it worsens, prickling at her flesh and veins, both an irritating and numbing sensation. She levels her opponent as Cato does to her, like two predators squaring off.

Time ticks away, a loud ringing in her ears. A reminder. She has to do something if she does not want to end up with Hisoka carrying her on his back. _I have to use Nen. Not just for defense, but offense. I have to disable him to win._

Across the field, Cato assumes a stance so familiar to her. He stands like Akamu, ready to strike. He mirrors Valtiel herself in that position. One more hit from him and she would topple. Her body shudders at the thought of it, suffering broken bones and joints just as her previous opponents did.

 _Tasting my own medicine_ , she thinks grimly. _How very bitter._

"I should like to think this is over," Cato says over the loud cheering of the audience. "I can tell you have no means to defend yourself from your own techniques. It's a shame, Valtiel. You have a promising talent."

"Thank you," she answers. "But I'll have to tell you that I cannot lose either."

"Is that so?"

"I am afraid so."

With a solemn nod, Cato charges for the final time. He is surprised that Valtiel meets him halfway, given that she has done nothing but defend and evade throughout the match. Now she lunges as well, her arms limp at her sides. He has in mind to break her knees next, to keep her from moving against him again.

But when she suddenly halts in her charge, boots flat on the floor while he is still leaping in midair, Cato knows something is wrong. In the air, in her stance, in the golden aura surrounding her body.

Her aura dispels from her body in a wave of golden sphere. It engulfs Cato as he leaps. His face goes slack, the determination slowly fading from his eyes. His body hovers in midair, exaggeratedly slow, and it sends the announcer and the audience in a state of blank shock.

"What is happening here?!" The announcer shouts into her microphone. The cameras in the arena show how Cato's body is still suspended in the air, engulfed by an aura invisible to normal people. "It seems Cato is soaring through the air, but he is not moving! Not at all! What kind of technique did Valtiel use?!"

 _One that ensures my victory._ Valtiel flexes her fingers and grits at the pain.

With a few more seconds left to lose, she charges towards Cato's unsuspecting self and proceeds breaking his major joints−shoulder, elbows, knees, and hips−and then kicks him at the last second, the golden sphere dissipating just as she sends him flying across the field and out of the ring. He smashes on the concrete wall beneath the audience.

In the large television screen, the referee comes to his side and gasps. Cato's neck is broken from the assault, along with his every limb. The blood clots under his olive skin, turning it into a dark shade of purple.

Both referee and announcer declare Valtiel the winner by total knockout. She smiles at the cheering crowd, and then disappears into the dark tunnel that leads back to the 200th floor lobby.

At the intersection, Hisoka smiles and holds out his arms for her. "You fought well," he commends her. "Do you want me to carry you back to our room?"

She sighs, exhausted down to the core. "If only you'd spare me your senseless talking."

"I promise." He picks her up and hoists her over his back, as her head rolls against his shoulder. "Did you manage to figure out his ability?" His promises are short-lived, it seems.

"A little." Out of habit, her nose nuzzles against his skin, his red-purple hair. Unconsciously, she inhales his scent, a sweet familiar scent. _Chocolate?_ "His aura capacity is impressive, but nowhere near Troupe level. His ability… I am not so sure, though it centers on picking up someone else's techniques and utilizing them as his own…"

"Ah, very true. What do you think his category is?"

"Enhancer?" She shrugs.

"Yes, and I thought his ability is appropriate for his nature," he chirps. "Enhanced mastery over martial arts, I believe. That is why both his offense and defense are top notch. If it weren't for your ability, you could have suffered more than broken elbows." He glances at her, taking in her sleepy face. "Now that I mentioned it, what _exactly_ does your Nen ability do?"

"You will have to figure that out by yourself," she murmurs.

"Sounds fun."

She is fast asleep before he could even walk out of the tunnel. In this closeness, he could smell the sweat and traces of fear and adrenaline from the previous match. He smiles to himself. "How very cute."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Despite the hectic schedule, I really wanted to update today —November 05 —because it is Chrollo and Valtiel's birthdate in this story! (Too bad Val's spending this chapter hanging out with Hisoka and Chrollo's out there brooding probably). But I got distracted by pizza and now I'm updating this story a few mins into November 06. LMAO. I've got not much to say for this chapter, except Hisoka is kicking ass as usual and Val is... well, Val is still learning how to fight.

* **HuangShaotian0005** \- I should probably write a side chapter where Chrollo is just plain brooding and the Spiders are like "Danchou, are you ok?" and Chrollo will just turn around with puppy eyes and a quiet, "No :(". Then there's Hisoka on the other side of the world eating chicken nuggets with Val... probably!

* **Blackcat cutecat** \- Thank you very much! Glad that you love the story so far! And if it comes to the point where Val has to die, I'm not sure who will lose their shit first: Chrollo and the Troupe, or Kurapika. Guess we'll have to find out!

* **Amy** \- Yay, I'm alive! I love Killua and Illumi to bits! More HisoVal in the upcoming chapters while Danchou broods in a corner. ;)

* **Guest** \- I'm glad you like the story! Thank you for leaving a review!

Have a great week, everyone!


	30. Chapter XXX

**Chapter XXX**

* * *

Despite the crippling winter season, Hisoka showers under the cold water for half an hour. Long, needlepoint claws rake through his red hair, the purple highlights melting away into a puddle at his feet. He has another dye waiting on the sink, a deep shade of blue to complement the season.

When he finishes, he steps out, completely naked, one hand rubbing at his hair. Valtiel is not home at the moment, allowing him to roam free as he wishes without someone complaining of his nudity. He does not mind showing her anything, but it certainly bothers her, sending them in another episode of her covering her face until he finds himself some clothes.

He stands in front of the massive window and looks down on the city below. Snow caps the roofs and roads. Thin frost even dances on the window, swirling patterns that crack under his fingernails. With a quiet sigh, Hisoka roams the space again, bored out of his mind, and starts rummaging through cupboards and drawers for something to entertain him.

In the bedside table's drawer, he blinks and pulls out a pair of black leather gauntlets. His amber eyes study the intricate mechanism−the straps and loop−and notices the gleam of the blade hidden beneath the folds. The gauntlet itself feels odd; one quick Gyo shows him a thin sheet of aura surrounding the blade. Amused, he sets the gauntlets down and picks up another item.

A necklace.

He turns it around and realizes that it is more of a locket than a necklace. The tip of his claw taps over the intertwined locks, gold and raven. Leaning against the cold window, he opens the locket and a small knowing smirk spreads across his lips.

So his suspicions are not unfounded, then.

He drinks in the photo inside: the Danchou and Valtiel together, somewhere warm and sunny, standing so close together that has the Danchou's arm snaked around her waist, and he pressing an intimate kiss on her hair. Hisoka wonders what happened to have these two so far apart now, when they were so close before.

The television screen beeps. Tearing his attention away from the locket, he reads the announcement on the screen and chuckles. He puts back the locket and gauntlet inside the drawer.

"I'm home," Valtiel announces as she enters through the front door. She wears an old-rose woolen sweater with a cream scarf and black leggings. She cradles a bag of groceries in her arms when she turns around for the magician, eyes unconsciously glossing over his bare body.

"Welcome home," he greets, still standing tall and proud by the window. "You came back just in time."

"What are you wearing?"

"Um, nothing?"

"Exactly! Where are your clothes?!"

He chuckles and fumbles for his tailored clothes in the closet. "Oh, by the way, did you get what I asked for?" He pulls out his jester outfit, lavender with magenta accents, and starts dressing where she could see.

She waves her hand, dismissive, and turns her back on him. "Yes, yes, but please tell me you're dressed now. That's vile, Hisoka-san, wandering around naked when you know I am around."

"All the more reason to be naked, Val."

She snorts and goes to the television screen. It is usually the means of the Heaven's Arena management to announce battle schedules, list of available opponents, invitation for matches, and even dinner menus. Today, it announces another invitation. She expects to read Hisoka's name or even hers, but the name in the screen is unfamiliar to her.

"Who's the Lady Death?" she asks.

"Hm?" Hisoka joins her, dressed in his getup now, though still without the face paint. "Oh, that's you, Val."

"Me?" She blinks up at him. After a month of sharing a room with him, she could not tell whether he is lying or not. He is as unpredictable as any of the Troupe members. She shakes her head and wrinkles her nose in disagreement. "Is this not a bit cliché? Since when did they start calling me as such?"

"Every fighter gets a stage name here in Heaven's Arena," he explains. He looks at the ceiling and ticks them off with his fingers. "Like Cato and Arianne are known together as the Mercurial Twins. Someone called Kastro is the Tiger of the South, while I myself am called the Grim Reaper."

"The Grim Reaper?" she echoes, unbelieving.

"Why, yes." He beams at her, smiling. "Don't you think it's fitting? They say it is because I always kill all of my opponents. It's a bit of a stretch because I don't really kill them, they get _themselves_ killed."

"No. You just kill them on purpose." She makes a face. "Stop being so pretentious."

"And now you're called the Lady Death." He continues beaming, like a child excited over something. He chuckles and taps his chin. "What a pair we would be, too. The Grim Reaper and the Lady Death." He smirks, well aware how this one annoys her. "The Diabolical Duo."

"Please stop saying that." Valtiel sighs exasperatedly. "If you keep mentioning that, I would not be surprised if the marketing team of Heaven's Arena would start calling us together by that. And Lady Death?" She groans, digging her knuckles into her eyes. "I'll have words with the marketing team when I get the chance."

"But why? I think it's cute."

He starts rummaging into the grocery bag and pulls out a small box of multi-flavored chewing gum that he has seen in commercials. He flings the box into the air and catches it with a string of Bungee Gum connected to his index finger. He smiles at Valtiel as the box dangles like a clock's pendulum. She uses Gyo and he comes away with another laugh.

"By the way, that announcement means someone is inviting you to another fight."

"How unfortunate." _For me._ She turns back for the screen and nibbles at her thumb.

It has only been a week since she last fought−her opponent an eager Nen user with the ability to teleport in wisps of black smoke. An Emitter. His trick was swift and unpredictable, but when she used her ability and he was suspended in the air, movements slowed down, it all took her a moment's notice to break his bones and leave him limping on the stage. The crowd cheered for her then, chanting different names other than her own, and somehow, the management ended up giving her a permanent stage name.

Lady Death.

What a terrible joke. Laughable. Pathetic.

Valtiel reads her challenger's name. Vargus. _I never heard of him._ Then again, she does not really keep watch on the fighters here. Hisoka does not either, both confident in his abilities and too lazy to make researches. Like her, he has had one fight after Arianne, against a Conjurer who died drowning in his own blood, his own weapon stuck through the neck.

"So, are you going to accept the offer?" Hisoka asks through a mouthful of gums.

"I might as well." She shrugs and folds her arms. "Someone has to maintain our position here. If we keep refusing invitations, they'd force us back to the 150s. I don't intend to fall back. The room and food here are good, and the prize money is more than what I expected."

"I noticed you're hoarding all the prize money you can get," he observes idly.

"I am not hoarding." She dislikes that word. "I am earning, Hisoka-san. I have something in mind with which to dedicate all the money." _The school, back in Meteor City._ She gives a little sigh. How she misses her other home, her childhood home, a home she knows she loves but could scarcely remember in her heart.

She looks at Hisoka's smirking face and says, "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"No doubt I won't," he agrees.

"Vargus."

The name already leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. What ability would he have? It is a bit daunting for her with no more than one year of battle experience to fight someone without knowing their background at least. Cato and Arianne had reviewed their opponents beforehand. Killua monitored his potential opponents as well. Shouldn't she and Hisoka do the same?

"Will you fight him, Lady Death?" he teases, seated on the couch with his arms spread over the back.

"You know what? I will." She takes the tablet near the television to confirm her schedule.

"When will you fight him? Maybe I have enough time to print shirts and tarpaulins for you."

"There's no need for that, Hisoka-san," she mumbles. When the magician raises an eyebrow as if to say "Oh?", she smiles and turns for the kitchen. "I just need you there to cheer for me, that's all."

Hisoka blows a bubble and pops it. "Aren't you very sweet to me, Lady Death?"

An indignant hiss comes from the kitchen. "Don't call me that."

* * *

On the day of the fight, three days later, Valtiel finds herself standing alone with the referee. The gigantic screen shows her picture and someone else's, a young man she believes to be Vargus. He has long fiery auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail and a thick, ugly scar running down from his right ear to the curve of his jaw. She stares at the picture for a while, assessing his character like Hisoka always does.

Ten minutes into waiting for Vargus, the referee shakes his head. "Valtiel?"

She stands straighter, alert. "Yes?"

"It's alright," he says to ease her nerves. "You win by default."

"Huh?" She stares long at the wrinkled face of a middle-aged man. She stares as if she has no idea what to do with the information given, as if she has no means by which to process it. Default. So it is possible to win in Heaven's Arena by default? Dressed in her jumpsuit and her mind already conditioned for battle, she does not expect sudden change in plans, and so has no idea how to react.

"You win," the referee repeats, understanding her confusion. "More than ten minutes have passed. If the other fighter, no matter if he is the challenger, does not make an appearance, you win." He turns for the announcer in her box, who loudly declares Valtiel to be, indeed, the winner. The referee offers a hard, wrinkled hand. "Congratulations on your win."

"Th-Thank you." She shakes his hand and goes down the stage. The crowd cheers as she goes, and in her confused state, she smiles and waves.

They shout louder, basking in a fighter's attention, chanting the stage name the management has given her.

 _Lady Death! Lady Death!_ It sounds wrong in her ears. It is as if they are calling for Death himself−the dark figure cloaked in black robes that is always depicted in books.

She looks up at their faces, seeing the hunger for fight and blood reflected in their glazed eyes. She realizes they are disappointed to miss a fight. As she disappears into the tunnel, she gives one last smile and waves to them.

She undoes the tight ponytail, letting her hair tumble in a sea of silver-gold across her back. Over a month since Pakunoda's meticulous haircutting, her hair has grown another few inches, the tips touching her waist. The jumpsuit's fabric is scratchy against her skin, making her note to find herself proper clothes rather than rely on the magician to find her some. Last time, he offered her a feminine version of his jester outfit. She had raged to him back then and Hisoka was not one to push the ridiculous idea further.

Reaching the end of the tunnel, she is surprised when the magician is not there waiting for her. It has been a habit between them, wait for each other to finish matches, walk back together to the room they shared.

One week after her encounter with Illumi, the management called that they could have private rooms of their own now, but Hisoka declined a change of rooms. Valtiel followed his lead and settled into another domesticated situation, but not as warm and comfortable as she did once. This time, instead of playing husband and wife, she plays the role of a friend−or at least that is what she thinks of her dealings with the magician. And as far as she could tell, Hisoka sees her the same way. Probably. There is no telling anything with Hisoka.

"You weren't there to watch," Valtiel says as soon as she is through the door. The magician is flopped on the couch, lazy as ever, watching the television. Her eyebrow raises. "And you never watch the news."

"I knew you were going to win by default," he answers, yawning. His hair is down again, no star-and-teardrop painted under amber eyes. And, much to her chagrin, no clothes again. He stretches arms and legs as he lies facedown on the couch, a pillow tucked under his chin.

"How so?" She averts her eyes from his shameless nudity and turns for the television.

A female reporter announces a mysterious death of one of the 200th floor Arena fighters. The police are taking the body away on a stretcher, the corpse bloody beneath white sheets. A lock of fiery auburn hair pokes from underneath and there is no need for her to ask whose body it is.

Hisoka hums from the couch, legs swaying in the cold air. "Apparently, someone already murdered Vargus earlier this morning, before his expected appearance at the stage." Lazy eyes flicker up to her, and he grins, all white and sharp canine. "Any ideas who could have done such a thing?"

She falls silent, her mind racking for answers. She knows no one else on this floor except the magician. She has no other friends, no colleagues, and the other fighters she knows well enough are Killua and Illumi. But it has been a month since then, and she has never seen a glimpse of the two brothers.

 _It must be someone else,_ she thinks to herself as she nibbles her lower lip. _A coincidence. Vargus might have been killed by a past enemy, or a thief who set upon him before daybreak._

"I can think of a few names," the magician suggests, rolling over the couch so that his face is up to the ceiling, smiling innocently while she averts her eyes again.

Just then, a soft knock comes from the door.

Hisoka sighs like a contented cat. "It must be them."

Valtiel shoots him a rather suspicious look before receiving their guests. Whoever they are, they carry a strong aura together: something she has not felt in a long while. When she opens the door, expecting an enemy to pounce at her, she gapes and stares.

"Kiddo!"

Uvogin ducks under the doorframe and immediately engulfs her into a bone-crushing embrace. Bulging muscles come around her petite form, with all the tenderness the largest and tallest Spider could muster. He grins as he cradles her like a doll, bounces her in his arms like an infant. He draws back and grins broadly at her face.

"Look at you! Haven't seen you in a few months and you're looking well and bonny! And your aura! Very nice," he gushes, nodding appreciatively.

"Uvo-san?" She lays her hands flat on his broad shoulders. Her eyes wander around his face and clothes, not believing that Uvogin himself is here. Spiky grey hair. Black eyebrows. A brown bearskin cape, short, and boots. She could not believe what she's seeing. "Are you really here, Uvo-san?"

"Of course!" He bounces her again before setting her back to the floor. "And not just me!"

From his sides, two more familiar faces appear.

Machi enters from the right, arms folded across her chest, wearing a cold expression. Her blue eyes flicker from Valtiel to the room beyond, noting the curtains, chandelier and furniture with her usual cold grace. Then her expression melts away as she smiles at Valtiel. "How have you been, Val?"

Valtiel answers with an eager embrace. "Machi-san! How I've missed you!"

"I suppose that means you're well." Machi rubs the other woman's back, as if that would quench her excitement. Over her shoulder, she notices a pale figure lazing across the couch. She scowls at him.

"It's very good to see you again, Miss Valtiel." Yuan stands behind Machi. His stark white hair, bronze skin and electric-blue eyes are easy to place, despite the months without seeing each other. Valtiel jumps into his embrace next, reaching only beneath his chin, and he shyly pats her back.

"How long has it been, eh?" Uvogin places a large, heavy hand on her head. "Since Meteor City?"

"A few months, almost another year." Valtiel smiles back.

Indeed, it has been months since she has seen these faces, except only for Machi. She has seen her only last month, back in that old, crumbling castle where Hisoka had replaced Omokage. But Uvogin's face is way back in Meteor City. Yuan even longer, almost a year, when they raided a cult's auction and lodged in a hunter's cabin. So much time has passed. So many time yet spent less with her friends. Her heart skips a beat at the thought of it: most of her time spent with someone else, months and months, with a certain dark-haired individual. She misses the Spiders, yet she misses him more.

Suddenly, Uvogin flinches. A low menacing snarl rumbles in his throat. His aura bursts from him, almost knocking Valtiel from her feet while Uvogin snarls louder like a beast. Hazel eyes are trained upon the figure on the couch−still lazing, still provocatively innocent.

Uvogin lunges first, all big hand and sharp claws. Hisoka jumps from the couch and lands on the other side of the room. The sudden attack and evasion sends the poor couch reeling across the room, smashing through the windows. Thousands of frost-covered shards erupt and rain down on them. Uvogin kicks at the floor to propel himself to the magician, everything about him naked, even his enjoyment as he faces against a fellow Spider. Uvo reaches out for him, but Hisoka pulls himself away using his Bungee Gum.

Flying towards the other end of the room, he flicks his index finger and the closet door flies open in a swirl of colorful tops, pants, and dresses. Uvogin glares at the theatrical display of the magician crisscrossing his flimsy threads and connecting them to different clothes. Hisoka smiles as he plunges himself into the clothes and glides back onto the floor, now dressed in a red-and-gold with black accents.

He stands up and copies a magician's bow. "Ladies and gentlemen, there are no tricks."

Uvogin snorts. "I'll show _you_ a trick, bastard!" His fist starts glowing. "Big Bang…"

Machi's Nen threads go around his fist, thighs, and legs stop him from continuing. Even Yuan is on the edge, hand outstretched to hold a nearby candelabrum.

The wild roar Uvo bellows is enough to send Valtiel shuddering.

Machi shakes her head, calm and composed. "We're not here to kill, Uvo."

"Didn't you _see_ him?" Uvogin jerks his head to where the magician stands, complacently quiet.

The threads neither tighten nor loosen, though they are strong enough to keep him in place, to keep him from advancing and wracking the room more. He snarls, baring his own canine at the other man.

"Loose me," he tells Machi with another deep growl. "Loose me and I'll end the _pervert_ clown right here. Right now."

"Killing a Troupe member is against the rules," says Yuan.

"He's not−" Uvogin blinks, the anger in him turning into confusion. He looks at Valtiel, and then to Hisoka, and back to Machi. "When you said we have a new member, I thought−"

"That Valtiel made it into the Troupe?" Machi suggests.

"Danchou said she's one of us now," Uvogin answers, sounding resentful.

"She is, but not as a Troupe member." Machi chooses her words carefully. "We did not come here for Valtiel, but for him." She nods towards Hisoka, who smiles back at her. "This is Hisoka, Omokage's replacement, our newest Number Four."

Uvogin growls as the threads disappear. He glares at the magician's face and could not forget how the other man was naked only a few moments ago. _A pervert, sharing a room with Val._ He could not wait to get back to base and report everything to the Danchou. Surely, Chrollo would see the disadvantages of letting Valtiel loose in the world, without the Spiders tracking her every moments. It's been a month, perhaps she has had enough of wandering around and come back to her senses, and realize that her home is with the Phantom Troupe. Phinks and Shalnark told him that once.

But Uvo sees nothing of those in her face. Despite her joy to see them again, her body language is different.

Machi turns to the magician. "We have orders from Danchou."

"Oh? So soon?" Hisoka produces a deck of cards and shuffles them. The wind picks up, entering through the shattered window in cold gusts, blows his cards to the floor. He chuckles then.

"A mission?" Valtiel confirms, her throat constricted.

"Yes, but for the Spiders only," Machi says.

"I see."

"Danchou wants everyone gathered for the mission," Yuan adds. He stands by the door, as if afraid to enter. His electric-blue eyes flick from one to another except Hisoka, whose smile makes him wary. "It's an unspoken Troupe rule for everyone to gather during New Year season." His eyes go to Valtiel and he notices the longing in her face. "Just like last year."

Valtiel nods, quiet and thoughtful.

Uvogin rests his forearm on her head and bends down to her eye level. "You can come along with us," he says, grinning. "Everyone's on their way to the base now and we just came by to pick up trash clown over here. It should have been you, Val, our newest member. The next time someone dies, I'll petition for Danchou to save you a spot," he says with a wink.

She smiles, a forced one. "That's very kind of you, Uvo-san."

Machi folds her arms. "So are you coming, too?"

"I'm not a Spider member." Another one of her favorite excuses. Valtiel's platinum-blonde hair stirs as the breeze howls again, stronger and colder. Swirls of snow follow the breeze, landing everywhere in the room.

"I think Danchou will be glad to see you in person again," Uvo suggests, tactless in his words.

"Perhaps." Valtiel nods, voice dry as bone. "Perhaps not."

Her less enthusiasm to go back to the Troupe makes Uvogin and Yuan exchange glances.

Only Machi seems to understand, being present during the last raid when she and Pakunoda noticed the strange melancholia hanging around their leader like a plague, and the way he and his Kurta tried their best to avoid each other's presence until the very last moment. The act reminded Machi of stubborn children in the playground. She wonders now how long this stubbornness and pride would even go.

The television screen lights up again. Everyone gathers at the front.

Another challenge, this time from a challenger called Farley.

"I hope this one doesn't die so soon," Hisoka comments from behind the group.

"I second that," Valtiel murmurs. After Vargus, she has another challenger in waiting. She takes the tablet and confirms her schedule with the management. In the screen, it beeps and declares her match tomorrow.

"You mean that Vargus person?" Uvogin snorts, arms crossed over a broad chest. "Idiot had a death wish, challenging you like that, kid. What about this Farley person? I can kill her for you."

Valtiel rounds on him, aghast. "You killed Vargus?"

"Yeah." He shrugs. No remorse whatsoever. "The bastard was telling everyone in a bar that he'd kill you in your match today. Fucking showoff."

"Uvo got very mad," Yuan adds with a small smile. "Broke his neck with one slap."

"I'd kill this Farley for you, too, kid." Uvogin grins down at her.

"But you can't! If you kill her, then it would be another win by default!"

"Oh? That happens?" Uvogin blinks.

"I told you that's how Heaven's Arena works," Machi interrupts with an exasperated sigh. "You weren't exactly listening. If your opponent does not show up, that's win by default for you."

"So what's the problem? If I kill Farley, then Val gets another win."

"I bet she doesn't want to win that way," Yuan offers.

"Of course she does!" Uvogin pats her head again like a puppy. "Don't you, kiddo?"

"No." Valtiel smacks his hand off her head and he blinks, shocked. She stands up against him in her tallest height, even though she barely reaches his chest. The man is a giant, a whopping eight-footer to her and Machi's five feet. He even makes Hisoka look like a child beside him. "I don't want to win by default again, that's nasty," she says. "And you guys should go. Whatever Troupe business you have with Hisoka-san, you should probably get on with it. I am staying here. The management will come around and probably offer us another room."

Uvogin shrugs his shoulders. Her opinions make not much difference against his stubbornness. "We're just here to orient the new member of the mission's details," he says and points at the pink-haired Spider. "So Machi can stay here and orient him, and maybe even settle with the new room. Yuan and I will be looking for somewhere to eat and sleep for the day. Kid, you're coming with us."

"Why do I have to clean up after your mess?" Machi puts both hands on her hips.

"Because you're so good at it, Mach." Uvogin spreads his lips into a childish grin. He tugs at Yuan and Valtiel and pulls them out of the room. "And because you look so pretty today. Bye!"

And he slams the door shut and escapes away with Yuan and Valtiel in tow.

Machi just scratches her head and turns back to the magician. Hisoka is smiling at her. She hisses.

"Get off my back, clown."

* * *

Downtown, Uvogin finds a bar with a rustic ambiance. He kills the staff and the guests, gathers tables and chairs into one pile group, and serves the bar's dinner menu of grilled steak with a side dish of roasted potatoes and lemon cakes. He swoops in and out of the kitchen while wearing a bloodied apron across his thick girth. He serves tankards of different alcoholic beverages, trying each one the bar has to offer: ale, mulled wine, mead. He clinks mugs with Yuan, coaxes him into a drinking match, but Yuan declines, and settles quietly into his seat.

"How's everyone doing?" Valtiel could not help but ask. She is halfway finished into her steak.

"Oh, so good." Uvogin slurps at his ale and belches at Yuan's direction. He snickers. "Everyone's doing great. I heard Paku and Bono are travelling together after a side mission. I believe Danchou went traveling with Phinks and Feitan this time. The others are coming along to meet us at the base, too. You should really tag along, see everyone for yourself."

"I couldn't intrude in a Troupe mission," she says. "I tagged along last time because I was asked to."

"Eh… Even if Danchou never asked for you, that automatically means you're invited."

"I have a match tomorrow," she reminds him.

"So what? We can wait until you finished." Uvo refills his tankard with mead and takes an experimental sniff. Delighted at the scent, he gulps it down in three deep swallows.

"Plus, it's New Year's Eve next week," Yuan murmurs. "You wouldn't want to miss New Year's celebration with us."

He rarely looks at anyone in the eye, but when he does, his soft eyes go with a soft smile. The most shy member of the Troupe, contrasting Uvogin in his loudness and rudeness. They are a perfect match in these dim-lighted surroundings.

She shakes her head, still stubborn. She looks at them both. "What is the mission about anyway? That everyone needs to be present?"

Uvogin shrinks in his chair and seems content into busying himself with the food.

Yuan chuckles and swirls the mead in his mug. "I suppose it's my story to tell," he mumbles and finishes his drink, as if hoping it would grant him courage. He meets Valtiel's inquisitive gaze with another tender smile.

"I was born to a family of slaves, Miss Valtiel. My family has worked mining for gemstones and precious metals for so long that my own parents have not seen the sun in years. I was born under the mountain. Raised. Worked. Whipped. I never saw the sun until I was eighteen, when I ran away."

Valtiel couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"My master's guards and hounds chased after me for four nights straight. I did not stop running. I was afraid to stop and become the subject of torture. For my crime, I knew death was inevitable. So I kept running until I crossed another country's borders, marked by train tracks. I stopped running then, so exhausted I couldn't feel my body. I collapsed, right there, on the track where a cargo train was approaching.

I thought then: _maybe this is how I die_. After nights of running, I would die from an accident. I accepted death, but somehow, fate did not let me die. Someone saved me, pulled me off the tracks at the last moment. When I had the strength to open my eyes… Danchou was smiling down on me."

Valtiel nods, engrossed in the story that she leans toward the table.

The silver-haired Spider sips his drink again. "He took me in, cared for me, and taught me Nen. One year later, I joined the Spiders. And three years after I escaped that mountain, we're going back to liberate the rest of the slaves. There are thousands of families underneath, a million of us there."

"That's amazing," she breathes.

"And that's why Danchou wants everyone. It's not an easy task," Yuan says. He shifts and his sleeves fall to his elbow, revealing crisscrossing scars over his bronze skin. Whipped as a child. Tortured as a teenager. Now he would come back for blood. His bloodthirst does not reflect in his blue eyes.

"Still not coming, kid?" Uvogin says, stubbornly persuasive.

"Nope." She laughs when he makes a face. "I have a match tomorrow."

"Indeed." Yuan raises his tankard to her, proud of the scars he bears. "To your match, Miss Valtiel."

"To your win." Uvo raises his own.

"To our victory." Valtiel clinks her modest glass of fermented apple juice.

* * *

The next morning, the three Spiders intend to watch Valtiel's match unseen, up near the exit doors where no one would notice them. Somewhere, Hisoka must be watching as well, but like the shy person he claims to be, decides to watch away from the Spiders.

The crowd is thick, chanting the accursed stage name with fervor. Machi and Yuan glance awkwardly at each other, but Uvogin cups his hands over his mouth and chants with them. "Lady Death! Lady Death!"

In the arena, Valtiel wears a red tracksuit and white linings at the sides. Her face is showed in the large television screen; she looks wary and on the edge, and Uvogin notes with appreciation that she has a warrior's expression on her now.

Farley is about her age, if not older, with glossy black hair pulled back in a thick braid. She wears a desert garb and carries a spear, twirling it around her lithe body, the blade slicing through the air.

Uvogin snorts. "I could snap that neck with thumb and index finger," he mumbles.

"Remember, this is not your fight," Machi hushes him, eyes fixated on the arena. She leans forward and rests both arms on the railing, while the big man sulks behind. "You're spoiling the Heaven's Arena challenge for her. Let her enjoy her time."

"She should have just gotten tired of that clown and come back to us," Uvo whines.

"Well, she's not coming back any sooner," she fires back.

At the ring, the referee declares the start of the fight. Machi leans closer, as if she could have a better look from their position up here, but she cannot miss this fight. She wants to report back to Danchou, even though he never once mentioned any report about his Kurta. Whether he has grown tired of her or not, Machi could not tell.

The fight below commences: Valtiel on the offensive. Uvo comments that she is confident because of her opponent's build. Farley is not as burly as Cato had been. The Kurta bombards the other woman with punches to the upper body, but Farley blocks them all with a spear. Farley tries sweeping the blade across Valtiel's stomach, but she deflects the attempt with a back kick on the blade.

The spear shoots out of Farley's hands and soars through the air. Uvogin puts a hand over his eyes and whistles.

Without a weapon, Farley starts darting across the arena, one tile after the other while eyeing Valtiel. In the large screen, Valtiel's golden eyes follow where Farley's foot lands every time. At Yuan's closer inspection, she is using Gyo.

Farley attacks again, tackling Valtiel to the floor. Once Valtiel is flat on her back, the dark-haired woman pounces out of the way as the tile beneath Valtiel explodes in a wave of white rocks and dust.

Uvogin and the others gasp and strain to see what is happening. "A bomb? Conjurer, then?" he demands.

Yuan shakes his head, himself a Conjurer. "A Transmuter, I think." He spares a sideways glance at Machi, who nods in confirmation. "With an affinity for Conjuration techniques."

"Val should have seen through it," Uvogin growls. "She was using Gyo the entire time."

"She was studying her, yes," says Machi, full attention on the match below.

Her eyes flicker from the arena to the screen, where the cameras are zoomed at the Kurta, limping to stand and suffering the effects of a conjured bomb. From what Machi could discern, Valtiel's back is sizzling and smoking from the explosion, the fabric of her red tracksuit ripping away. The tips of her long hair are burned out.

 _This is not good._ _S_ he narrows her eyes. _She can't be too hurt. Danchou won't like that._

Machi looks at Uvogin and Yuan and know instantly that they are thinking the same. It is their duty as Spiders to preserve their Danchou's treasures. This one, the Kurta, is his most favorite. _The treasure cannot be a damaged good. She'll be of no use to us then._

But the treasure delivers. Back in the arena, she fights back, another series of blows that Machi could follow easily with her eyes, but not completely understand. Valtiel is not aiming where it should hurt most, but she tries reaching out for shoulders and knees, always on the guard for any limbs she could catch. Machi wonders, just as how Uvo and Yuan are wondering now.

At the last exchange, Farley forces Valtiel back to another clean tile, which shifts and explodes under her weight. This time, she is prepared, propelling herself with the explosion's momentum and somersaults in the air. She aims her claws at the other woman, ready to rip at the nearest flesh she could reach.

Uvogin roars the loudest when Valtiel grabs Farley by the throat.

Yuan laughs and claps, while Machi keeps watching.

The Kurta whispers something in Farley's ear, her claws digging into the flesh, the wink of red blood like rubies under the bright lights. After her brief whisper, she proceeds to break Farley's knees and hips, and then throws her to a clean tile across the arena.

Like a desperate worm, Farley crawls on her hands and drags her useless legs behind her. The bomb she planted there detonates, with her right in the middle of it.

Again, Uvogin is the one roaring loud enough to represent the entire Phantom Troupe. The crowd seems to follow his lead, chanting Valtiel's name and stage name interchangeably, as fervent as sinners in a church. Drowned out by the loud cheering, the referee declares Valtiel winner by knockout.

The three of them meet her in the tunnel.

"Congratulations, kiddo! I ought to give you a kiss!" Uvogin then puckers his lips teasingly and plants noisy kisses on both her cheeks. Valtiel laughs as he pulls away and ruffles her hair.

"Very well done," Machi commends with a sharp smile. "You've done well enough for yourself, Val. That's good progress in the last month. Small wonder why you don't want to leave." Her careful words incite something else in the Kurta's eyes. Even if she tries to hide it, there is no hiding anything from Machi and her sharp instincts.

"Danchou will be proud to hear of this," says Yuan.

"Will he?" Valtiel hears herself say. She has not asked about him since the Spiders arrived. Even when she is with Hisoka, she always avoids talk of the Spider head. This time, she has broken her record.

 _If only he would ask me himself, I could come back._ She shakes her head. _No. Even if he asks, I won't._

"Feitan, too," Yuan adds. "He's impatient to hear about your progress."

"He and Phinks are still betting how long you'll last." Machi rolls her eyes at the memory. Her lips press into a thin line as she observes the burned pale skin of the Kurta's back. "You should get treated first," she suggests, the first instincts of a healer.

At the end of the tunnel, Hisoka materializes, all prepared in a new getup: bright red hair with deep blue highlights, another tailored outfit of black with magenta accents and armbands, and a pair of black high-heeled shoes. He claps as he always does after each of her matches.

Uvogin wrinkles his nose, still not accustomed to the magician's presence.

"Should we go?" Hisoka prompts, amber eyes flitting from Uvo to Machi. "Congratulations by the way, Lady Death. That was one incredible fight. You're learning fast for a little poppet."

Valtiel narrows her eyes at the word.

"She needs to be treated first," Machi rules. "We can leave when we've ensured her condition."

"Of course, my dearest Machi."

Uvo cracks his knuckles. "If you keep acting like a perverted creepy clown, I'll break your jaw."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Advance Merry Christmas, folks! I'm trying to update chapters before and on Christmas Day, so I'm in a bit of a rush to edit and update... so much so that I'm writing this post-chapter note during work! Unfortunately, I gotta make this fast before the bosses catch me slacking! LOL.

Thank you for those who left review last chapter: **HuangShaotian0005, MissEkat597, Milady13, xenocanaan, and Amy** —you all have my sincerest thanks! Of course, I thank everyone who keeps reading and following this story! It personally means a lot to me! Many, many thanks, guys! I'll try to update around Christmas Day as well, so I'll see you guys soon! Have an awesome weekend!


	31. Chapter XXXI

**Chapter XXXI**

* * *

With Hisoka gone, Valtiel has no worries leaving the tower.

The morning is alive with an early fireworks display. Small wonder, for it is New Year's Eve and the townspeople are already up and about at barely eight in the morning, already celebrating by tossing hats and waving flags. The shops are busy serving cakes and beers, the children are racing across the frost-covered ground. Men are hanging buntings from one frozen pole to another.

Valtiel walks unseen as she smiles at the ongoing celebrations. The Heaven's Arena management dedicates a special match for tonight, hours before midnight, and she is given front-row seats as presents. It is a shame the other ticket would go to waste, intended for the so-called Grim Reaper, who is no more than just Hisoka-san to her, out there on a mission with the Phantom Troupe.

She wounds her way through the celebrations and finds a small bookshop where she always goes. She misses exploring for ancient texts and treasures, Hisoka being no great enthusiast for anything literary, but at least he is a good listener, always indulging her as she rants about this and that.

The cashier smiles up at her as she enters. "Morning, Miss Val."

"Good morning, Clark." She returns the smile and heads straight to a familiar bookshelf. The middle-aged man is already accustomed to her visits, short they might be. "Happy New Year, by the way."

"Ah, likewise, Miss." He chuckles, leaning back on the counter. "You're alone for this holiday?"

"It's nice to do things alone," she quips, earning a soft laugh from him. "And yourself? Spending the holiday with your wife and children, I presume?" She pulls out a hardbound book from one shelf, and then a smaller dictionary from another. She cradles them in her arms and puts them on the counter.

Clark nods as he inputs the items. "Oh, yes. My eldest son is coming home and he will be bringing his own wife and daughter with him. This will be my first time meeting them."

"You must be excited."

"I am." He grins and collects the books with a ribbon. "That will be 800 Jenny, Val."

"Are you sure?" She blinks and checks at the price tags. "It should be 1,000, Mister Clark."

"It's 800 for you." He pushes the books toward her as she pays the fee. Wrinkles tug at his face when he smiles again, with all the fatherly warmth. "Happy New Year."

She thanks him again and heads out on her way to the park.

The park is not too crowded when she enters through the modest entrance. She counts no more then twenty people as she traverses the flagstone pathway. She finds an abandoned bench by the frozen lake, with low-hanging tree branches all around her. The stillness and ambiance of the park makes her relax, as opposed to the noise and frenzy with the Spiders.

After a while of basking in the peace, she pulls the ribbon and fusses over her new books. It is an ancient volume, hardbound with stiff, yellow pages. The black ink is almost unrecognizable, as well as the language, yet Valtiel could recognize Thracean anywhere.

She is minding her own business when a child approaches her. Her eyebrow rises. "Yes?"

"Was wondering if young miss can want an apple?" The little girl burbles in her soft voice. She could be no more than seven or eight. While Valtiel has been out playing tag with future thieves at the same age, this child is offering apples to passersby.

"How much?" Valtiel asks, surprising herself when she starts reaching for her money.

"Just a penny," chirps the little girl, almost bouncing in excitement.

"Here." She gives her everything she has brought with her and only takes one apple from the basket.

The girl glances down at the excessive amount of money, looking confused. "But you're supposed to have more than that, right, miss?" Then she holds out her thin arms and offers the whole basket of small apples, some of them half-withered by time. "Here, have some more!"

Valtiel shakes her head, finding a smile. "No, thank you. I am quite all right with just one."

"Are you sure?" Still confused, the girl stares at the money and tries to make sense of the images and letters. Then her curious brown eyes goes down to the open books. She stares hard on the book covers, her lips moving wordlessly, but her eyes are bright with confusion and frustration.

"Would you like to read with me?" Valtiel offers.

"Oh, um…" The girl flinches and tears her gaze away, a light blush dusting her cheeks.

"Can you not read?" Valtiel observes, puzzled.

"Um, no, miss." The girl flushes in embarrassment, now lowering her gaze to the grassy floor.

"How is it that you cannot read? You must be at least seven years old! I was already reading books and other texts when I was in your age!" Curious as ever, the young woman scoots closer, hungry for answers. "Why is it so? Does your mother never teach you?"

Then again, Valtiel had no parents to teach her as well. She only had her Grandfather Ryence and the other elders to teach her how to read and write and count her numbers.

The girl shakes her head. "My parents can't read, miss."

"Oh," Valtiel mutters helplessly, for once not understanding something so simple. She stares as if trying to discern what to do or how to process the information. Her eyes follow the retreating figure of the child as she thanks her again and bids her farewell.

The skies gradually darken, and the people in the park start leaving. Valtiel gets up as well, somewhat drained and still mulling over the exchange. She takes her books with her and heads back to the tower, where perhaps she could get her bearings and start her reading.

The Arena employees greet her as she steps into the threshold. All of them are wearing more colorful versions of their usual pink uniforms. Valtiel smiles throughout the tedious process of sidestepping everyone, including some so-called fans who are asking for her next schedule. Others are just in the crowd to ask for dates, flinging bouquets at her face or asking for her number. She keeps her mouth shut as one of the security guards escorts her to the elevator.

Fighting in Heaven's Arena for money and battle experience is one thing.

Fighting for fame and glory is quite another.

As she steps onto her floor, she pauses at the lobby and looks around. The hallway is quiet and dim, without traces of anyone else's presence. Strange, especially for this time of the year. She walks back to the new room she shares with Hisoka, after the last one is left in shambles.

Someone trails after her, thinking himself unseen, undetected. But after months of enduring Chrollo's restless critical gazes and even Feitan's leering, she knows when someone has their eyes on her.

This one certainly has−whoever they could be.

With quick steps, Valtiel enters the new room and locks herself inside. She has no other means of escape, not up here, more than two hundred floors above ground. She fumbles for the bedside drawer, reaching out for the pair of black gauntlets she never uses.

It gives a sharp, painful tug in her heart to remember some memories, but she still puts them on, strapping them over her wrist one after the other. Once finished, her eyes catch the gleam of something else, a golden trinket, the mourning locket. Sighing, she puts the trinket in her pocket and braces herself for her pursuer.

Ten surrounds her body. Claws outstretched. Hidden blade at the ready.

She thinks she is prepared, but when something in the room clicks, followed by a hissing and a fragrant smell, she thinks twice. Her vision swims, faces of unnamed people dancing before her eyes. She falls to her knees, then to her face, as a pair of black boots step into her line of sight.

Someone crouches over her head, their fingertips tracing the curve of her jaw. Yet as unconsciousness threatens to kick in, she lunges with her teeth bared, an animal starved.

Her attempts are futile when a second figure emerges from behind the curtains and presses a handkerchief over her mouth and nose.

* * *

It is well after sunset when she wakes up.

Her body seizes with numb pain. An inexorable wince spills from her lips as she tries to move, to get her composure in this dark place. A long rectangular window is before her, revealing beyond the wide stretch of indigo skies and silver stars. There are no trees or buildings, no other sound of vehicles. From that alone, she could tell the train moves alone in its tracks, the electrical hum and grating of metal against metal unmistakable. It is warm in here at least, despite the occasional swirls of snow sticking onto the window.

Again, she tries to move. Another painful shock through her senses. Another wince.

When she tries for her arms, her claws, she could not move. Only then does she fully comprehend her situation: a white straitjacket, wound so tight around her body she could feel the numbness building in her limbs; a pair of iron cuffs around her ankles, connected to a chain and locked behind her back; and an iron muzzle over her mouth, with bars so tight over her jaws that blood drips from the little gaps, staining her straitjacket.

They are not the worst parts.

Worse still is the iron mechanism around her neck. A collar, with needlepoint tips at both ends, the bottom digging painfully at the skin of her collarbone, while the top hovers a few inches beneath the soft skin of her throat. She hears the electricity sizzle from within its confinement, small blue bulbs threatening her of the voltage hidden underneath.

She does her best not to move. One wrong movement could send the electroshock collar into a frenzy; perhaps it might even trigger a chain of deadly reaction between muzzle, jacket, and cuffs. Besides, her entire body is already aching, jaw and collarbone bleeding freely to the white cloth.

Tears prickle at her eyes. Out of pain and desperation. A tear slips from her cheek and drops from her jaw to one lightbulb. It sizzles and hisses, and she hears the electrical sensation dancing across her skin.

"Awake now, aren't you?" A voice from the other side of the train comes.

Valtiel tightens her jaw. She could not turn to him. She could not speak. She only hisses in answer, snarling like a beast in a muzzle they made her to be. She tries to summon what little aura she can muster, but her body feels weak, weightless. Empty.

A man in his late twenties, with stark white hair except for a black streak on the right, steps out of the shadows. A handsome man, clean-shaven, is wearing a dark purple robe to match the purple in his eyes. He takes small, careful steps as he sinks onto the couch across from her.

Purple eyes rake through her appearance, softening. "You're bleeding," he murmurs, pointing his chin to where blood drips underneath the muzzle. "I told them to take care handling you."

Despite the muzzle and her constraints, she dares to lean forward and snarl. The collar hisses back, further daring her to put one toe out of line. She slumps back on her seat, eyes dark with unmasked anger.

He shakes his head, solemn as can be. "You would have to excuse us," he says in a gentle tone. "But we have our orders from the prince." He notices how her brows furrow behind the muzzle. He leans his elbows on his knees, leaning closer as if to whisper. "I must commend you. It was not very easy searching for you. It took several families across continents just for a clue of your whereabouts."

She tips her head to the side, lips curled into a sneer.

"You're amused," he observes, chuckling. "The last time we made progress, you were still in Meteor City with your friends. So many families dead by then. Six groups, if I remember correctly."

 _I remember._ Valtiel sees Meteor City and its barren surroundings, the Kiyobu Family and their massive trucks. After that attack, more followed. More Nen users. The Phantom Troupe decimated them all.

She struggles against the bonds, finger flexing beneath the tight straps.

The man's gaze falls on the straitjacket and the chain around her feet. His lips show disgust. "The prince was beside himself when the families failed," he continues, pulling up his collar against the chill inside the train. "He doubled the rewards, promised us estates and promotions. Even a place for next year's Southernpiece Auction in Yorknew City."

 _I remember that, too._ Valtiel sees Luca, chattering to her like a drunk, while someone else is with his friend Nicola, trapped in their own world. She growls deeply in her throat.

"Nothing else was harder than digging up information about you," the man says. "So imagine our surprise when we finally found you, at Heaven's Arena, in all places!" He smiles wider, teeth yellowed by drink and cigar showed to her. "Your name and face are everywhere. It was only a matter of time before we moved to get you. You see, it is a hard competition when it comes to pleasing the Fourth Prince. Really."

 _Oh, I don't doubt it_. She tips her head to the other side and blinks.

"We have to move fast," he continues. "When we confirmed that your friends are gone, we moved."

"D-Damn…" The jagged ends of the muzzle dig deeper into her skin. Valtiel fights back tears and pain, baring her teeth at the man again. "Damn… you…"

"Very spirited." He nods just as her eyes trail down to the opening of his robe, to the tattoo on his chest. He pries the robe looser and shows the tattoo of a purple star and sword. "We are the Awase Family, from the Kakin's underground. We are but a low family, with many higher competitions. You can imagine how hard it is for us to deliver to the prince."

"Where…?" Her breath whistles through her clenched teeth. More blood oozes from the gash, deepening every time she opens her mouth to speak. Beneath the jacket, she wiggles her fingers, feeling the metal loop of the gauntlet around her middle finger. _So the fools did not remove the blade._

"Are we taking you?" he suggests and peers out of the window. "Back to Kakin, of course. However, there is a snowstorm in this part of the country and it will be dangerous to take you by air. By land, it might be more than ten days to reach port, where we can take a ship across the world."

"… Damn…" The electroshock collar whirs, its light blue bulbs twinkling like stars. "You…"

"Eloquent, aren't you?" He takes a napkin from his pocket and kneels at her feet.

Despite the close proximity, he knows the victim could do more than hiss and snarl at him, while he reaches out to wipe the blood pooling and caking at the iron muzzle and on the padding of the jacket. He glances at her face, her eyes glowering at him.

"My name is Gerald. You can wipe that look off your face like you're going to bite me. I am not alone. My colleagues are watching guard on the other side."

She follows where his thumb points, to another door with a small window. Another man with deep-set eyes and wide forehead watches them.

Gerald finishes with his task and moves to stand. Valtiel, not letting him go without a fight, leaps from her seat and smashes her forehead on his chin. Gerald sways from the impact, while her constraints keep her from fully standing up. The cuffs around her feet clink as she falls back to her seat, and the collar buzzes into life. She could feel the electrical pulse on her skin, warm but deadly.

The second man rushes to Gerald. "You alright, man?"

"I'm−I'm fine…" Gerald forces himself to stand, one hand on his reddening chin. He looks down on her and finds her smirking behind the bars of her muzzle. "The prince will enjoy tearing you apart, Kurta."

"Let him try," she rasps.

"You watch your mouth," the second man interrupts. His dark eyes rake over the muzzle, collar, and jacket, but linger on the jacket more. His eyebrow twitches. "You must be wondering why you cannot use Nen."

That quite stops her little rebellion. She opts to glare up at the man.

He takes pleasure in her sudden quietness. He takes Gerald's position at her feet, kneeling, his face mere inches from hers. He could see the glimmer of light in her eyes, the wave of red anger in them.

"That jacket is a conjured item that nullifies one's aura, forcing them to Zetsu. You understand now?" He nods to everything that restrains her. "You're no more than just a caged little bitch."

Valtiel tackles him on the neck. The needlepoint tips on her collar both dig into their skins. The bottom ones push deeper into her collarbone, while the ones on top pierce through the man's flabby skin. Blood spurts from his wound, while hers pour down from neck to chest, staining her jacket further.

The man gurgles as he clutches his neck, the blood gushing between pudgy fingers. His eyes roll back to his skull and he wheezes, and Valtiel reminds herself of a pathetic fish out of water. It is Gerald's turn to rush to his friend, putting pressure onto the wound, but the soft flesh in the neck gives way, oozing more blood. The man coughs, winces, and dies.

"Happy… New… Year…" Valtiel croaks, allowing herself this small, insignificant victory.

Heartless it may seem, but they are more heartless: kidnapping her and subjecting her to these horrors. She watches as Gerald and another young man take the dead one out of the compartment, sliding his bloody corpse across the floor like a pig for the butcher.

Gerald looks at her over his shoulder. His expression is one of mourning for his friend. Valtiel half-expects him to turn on the shock collar as a punishment, but he merely sighs and exits the compartment.

She bangs her head against the metal wall and closes her eyes. Without anyone's eyes on her, she lets the tears fall, born of anger, exhaustion, and desperation. The heartfelt reunion she had with the entire Phantom Troupe was only one year ago, just this exact time last year, when she was laughing with the Spiders. Now here she is: shipped to a prince as if she is no more than just another parcel, another plaything for another man. She bangs her head again, more forceful, thinking herself stupid for all this.

Perhaps she is really stupid, filled with childish dreams. That morning she imagined herself celebrating New Year alone−no hard feelings in that. Last year, she watched a fireworks display from a hotel's 70th floor. That morning she imagined watching the fireworks display from the 200th floor of Heaven's Arena.

And when Hisoka comes back… Well, who knows what fun could have ensued? The man is a sunshine personified himself, always very cheerful, rarely annoyed. He likes games of any kinds, and Valtiel, basking in his good nature, plays along. Once, when the Arena management came by to serve their dinner, they opened the door to find the pillows ripped, the feathers thrown about. Someone had a quick word with Valtiel and she had to agree. Since then, pillow fights are not allowed anymore.

Her mind wanders far back. What if she did not leave the Troupe? What if, instead of coming with Hisoka, she came along with Shalnark and the others? Would she have been in this same situation−chained, strapped, muzzled? And Chrollo… Her breath hitches in her throat. Would he come to rescue her?

 _Oh, but Danchou is not here_ , she berates herself. _No one will come for you._ And if that is not the saddest thing for a New Year's Eve, she does not know what else could be worse.

The train screeches into a stop. Valtiel opens her eyes and looks around for any signs that the trip might have been ambushed. Unfortunately, she hears voices outside, the gruff, authoritative command of soldiers ordered to guard a checkpoint. Wherever they are, they are miles away from Heaven's Arena. They might have passed country borders by now, judging by the dark skies and continuous snowfall.

She tugs at her hands again, feeling for the loop on her middle finger. If she could flick her wrist, surely the blade would follow. But every movement sends her body into another painful episode. The door of the next compartment clangs open and she freezes as heavy footsteps head towards her. Desperate, she forcefully struggles against her bonds and ignores the sharp pain at her jaw and neck. She manages to get her claws out in her left hand. One of the jacket's straps tears away, enabling her more space to move.

The door to her right hisses open. A general, judging from the ribbons and medals on his chest, approaches her with his hands behind his back. He stares down at her compromising position, noting the jacket and muzzle with amusement. He nods at Gerald and the other young man, another youth with big bones and broad shoulders. The three of them review her from head to toe, incensing her further.

The general falls to his knees in front of her, and Gerald and his friend glance at each other. "Pretty eyes for a pretty girl," he tells Valtiel, nodding to her face. "Good enough for appearance's sake, a concubine for the prince. She'll not make a good queen."

 _Bitch. Concubine. Queen. One more word and I'll beat them right out of you, General._

When he reaches a hand out to touch her hair, Gerald and his friend freeze in place. "Maybe you shouldn't, sir. She's a menace, a real savage, Corporal Addam."

Valtiel rolls her eyes. _Oh, sorry. Corporal._

Addam appears uncomprehending. Like a very confident fool, he takes Gerald's warning in stride and reaches out for her hair again. He ignores the deep rumbling in her throat and rolls a blonde lock between index finger and thumb, from her head down to the very tips. He finds her eyes again and smiles, taunting.

Her hands dart from behind her, freed of the straps. One hand shoves into the corporal's neck, her fingers going through the soft flesh and spine. Gerald and his friend are quick to react, pulling out guns from their hips. Valtiel tosses the corporal's body to the youth while she charges at Gerald, pouncing awkwardly from the cuffs around her ankles. Still, her claws find his wrist and squeezes, hard.

The other youth punches her in the gut. She hisses and reaches out for his neck. He catches her hand, the claws inches beneath his chin. She laughs throatily as she flicks her wrist; the blade slashes upwards in a glint of silver steel, piercing through the young man's chin to his forehead. She pushes his body to join the corporal and flings herself to the window.

Gerald screams an incoherent word. He fumbles for his pocket, the collar's remote control in his shaky hands. With one little push, the collar comes alive with powerful mechanical whirs.

Valtiel's body jerks as the electricity dances throughout her entire body. A thousand, perhaps even ten thousand voltages are strong enough to burn her flesh from within. Her body spasms violently as she soars through the cold evening air, spiraling down to the field of frozen river underneath the train tracks.

The ice gives way from the momentum and her weight. The water burns, searing through her flesh in a pain she has never endured before. Her body goes numb, the blood from her jaw freezing. The coldness seeps through her many open wounds, forcing herself to cry out in pain under the dark waters. She digs her claws into the ice ceiling, pulling her weight against the river's powerful current. Like a rock climber, heaving herself up on the mountainside. One hand emerges from the punctured hole, and she forces herself up on weak arms, then body, then legs.

Stars blink like diamonds in the night sky. They are beautiful, an unreachable wonder.

Valtiel notices the train tracks above her head, with the black train still stuck at the middle. She rolls on her arms and knees, crawling at first, and then to a run. She breaks the chains around her ankles and removes the straitjacket despite the chilly winds. The rush of aura is a blessing, almost like a steam against this accursed wintry night.

Her use of Zetsu has become second nature to her, both for fatigues and for losing potential enemies. Tonight, Zetsu is certainly useful as she crosses the frozen river, taking light steps as she can. The Awase Family members are shouting at each other, and it guns her senses into overdrive, aiming for the pine forest on the river's other side.

Upon reaching the riverbed, she keeps running. No time to catch her breath. No time for second guesses. She needs to put as much distance as she could, aware that more than twenty Nen users are hot on her heels, like bulls chasing after a red flag.

And what a red flag she is!

Without the straitjacket, she is only wearing a white silk dress, something anyone would wear on a summer evening. Worse still, her blood has caked and frozen over the flimsy straps and over her chest. She is an obvious red flag framed against a stretch of white fields and green forest.

She runs like a woman possessed, leaping over outrooted trees and imposing boulders. Every time she leaps, her dress is caught in a tangle of thorny bushes and gnarling roots, tearing at the hem, cutting it shorter and shorter. She is more worried of the white trail she leaves for her predators, but not even that thought is enough to make her slow down.

At length, she comes across a small village. No more than thirty cottages with thatched roofs and smoking chimneys. She stalks around the place and finds a medium-sized barn near the village's edge. It is no hard work to open the door and slip inside. The only trouble is the animals inside, voicing their protest against an outsider. Horses, cows, goats. She stares at the animals with no great enthusiasm.

Instead, she collapses face first onto the nearest pile of hay, arms outstretched, and limbs aching like hell.

She lapses into a dreamy state in an instant. Images of sunrise, towers, and hills swim before her vision. Her grandfather, the church, Meteor City's wasteland. And the Spiders, always the Spiders. Her childhood with them flashes in her mind, the winter nights spent huddled under an awning, the bonfires, and the story telling. Feitan and his art book collection. Uvogin with his ridiculous afro.

Still in her dream, she feels someone approaching her. Her claws appear, the hidden blade poised to strike. Then she steels herself and jumps from the hay, wearing an angry expression already.

A little boy with an oil lamp stares back at her. Instead of fear, he is curious. "Are you alright, miss?"

"What…" Her voice croaks again, painfully. "What are you doing here?"

"This is our barn," he chirps and pats a horse's head. "This is Clover, because she has a clover shape pattern on her forehead. See?" He points a chubby finger at the horse's so-called clover pattern.

"Yes, I see…" Valtiel settles back on the hay and clutches her aching head.

"Are you okay?"

"I am very tired. And cold. And hungry."

"I'll get you some food if you want." He crouches on the hay next to her and leaves the oil lamp on the ground. In this light, it illuminates his curly blond hair and sea-green eyes. He is already in his woolen pajamas, printed with stars and crescent moons. "Stay here, 'kay?"

She nods and he wobbles out of the barn.

Five minutes later, he comes back with a bowl of stew and some boiled potatoes and radish. He watches with a childlike wonder as the young woman wolfs down everything given to her, with much fervor. Cross-legged on the hay, he blinks and asks, "What's your name?"

She wipes her mouth to show a little decorum. "I'm Valtiel. What about you?"

"I'm Wart!" he chirps.

"Wart?" She giggles. "Why so?"

"Well, my name is really Arthur but Papa calls me Wart."

She softens and taps his little nose. "Thank you for this, Wart. You're a very good boy."

He grins and points at the dried crimson spots on her skin. "Are you hurt?"

"Yes." She shakes her head, tired. "Many people are trying to hurt me. If I stay any longer, you might get hurt, too. Let me finish my meal, and then I would go−"

"Don't go!" Wart pleads, small hands on her skirt. "I'll ask Papa to help you!"

"No, Wart, don't!" But the little boy is out of the farmhouse again, already calling for his father. Valtiel sighs and relaxes on the hay. It is not much, and the barn smells of animals, but she has nowhere to go. The Awase members are out there somewhere, intent on taking her back to their precious prince. Her face darkens at the memory of that prince, seeing himself as some sort of divine being.

When the boy returns, the father immediately raises an axe to threaten her. Not until Wart explains what is happening does the father nod in solemn understanding and lower his axe. Ector joins them on the hay and listens to whatever else the young woman has to say in her defense.

Ector tugs at his pointed beard, a dark auburn streaked with grey. "If you need a place to stay for the night, you can certainly stay here," he says after a while of pondering. "The news tells of a snowstorm tonight and tomorrow. If you try to leave now, you'd die of cold. Your pursuers will think the same. They won't risk themselves under a storm."

"I wouldn't be sure of that," Valtiel mumbles.

"If you must, then stay. Here, inside the barn." Ector gets up and returns to the house. He comes back shortly afterwards with a fresh change of clothes, a hooded robe, gloves, and boots. "They belonged to my wife, before we lost her in a snowstorm. They might fit you."

"Thank you very much, sir."

"Get some rest. If you want to leave, no need to say goodbye."

"Yes."

"Say your good night, Wart," the father prompts.

"Good night, Valtiel," Wart says, beaming.

"Oh, how sweet. Good night, little Wart." She ruffles his curls and nods to the father. "Thank you, Sir Ector."

The father and son leave her in the dimness of the farmhouse. She changes into the new clothes, discarding the bloodied nightdress. Along the process, something falls out of her pocket. It rolls across the floor and clinks against the oil lamp. She picks it up, confused at first, and then realizing that she has brought the mourning locket with the gauntlet all along.

There is a second floor inside the barn. She sits on the window ledge, overlooking the stretch of frozen surroundings, alert for the first signs of danger. She wears her gauntlets and wears the locket next.

Begrudgingly, she opens it. Chrollo's face welcomes her, his eyes closed as he kisses her hair in the photo. How she misses that−his gentleness and soft voice, the occasional banter, pretending to be husband and wife to curious, gossiping neighbors. _How time flies when you are enjoying yourself._

The first set of fireworks breaks through the midnight skies. Bright lights taking various shapes, blazing with various colors. They come from a distant city, too far away, but the fireworks are high enough for everyone to see, to enjoy. Purple serpentine fireworks, green palm trees, magenta rings. Majestic.

Valtiel smiles throughout the display. Last year, she was almost on top of the world with the Phantom Troupe, warmed and loved by their attention. Tonight, she is alone, in a part of the world she does not know, sharing a barn with horses and goats. She is away from home, hunted down by mercenaries. She really has to wonder:

 _Where will I be next New Year?_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Surprise, surprise! I'm back so soon, huh? LOL. I wanted to make one final update before New Year and before I go to my short trip to New York for the week. Now that the year is almost ending, I would want to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has been with me from the start through now, who has been patiently waiting for updates and who has been kindly leaving reviews each chapters. There are too many to mention, but I want you to know that I'm grateful for you and I find motivation in writing and updating because of my passion for writing and for everyone's support!

So, here's to the final update in the awesome year of 2019−and cheers to the new year of 2020! More opportunities to come to everyone of us! May we find peace in our minds and hearts and may we keep doing what we love and enjoy! ❤️

Personally, this is one of my favorite chapters. I've always wanted to see Valtiel in such a great, big trouble−and on her own. No Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks, or even Hisoka to help her. No Uvogin to babysit her. It's just her against the world and now she has to survive on her own, something she has unconsciously done since Day One against the massacre. This young woman is a survivor, one way or another, and to see her save herself is pleasing to me. LOL.

Once again, thank you all SO MUCH for all the endless love and support! I hope everyone has a happy New Year! I'll see you all next update! 😇


	32. Chapter XXXII

**Chapter XXXII**

* * *

 _I'm quite a shy person_ , Hisoka once said.

Well, here he is now: the entirety of the Phantom Troupe surrounds him. Entirety, meaning that the others he did not meet during his first raid are here. His amber eyes flit from one face to another, noting each individual with curiosity and interest. Three new faces assault his sight as he settles into one of the old couches inside this abandoned building of a base.

Aside from the new faces, there are old ones, too. _Val's babysitters_ , if he remembers them correctly, though not by names. No. Only a few Spiders are worth his attention. He produces a deck of cards from his pocket and pretends to lapse into his own world, but his senses are on high alert, especially towards the Danchou.

Chrollo Lucilfer is wearing a dark blue coat to ward off the chill. He reads alone, by the candlelight, eyes boring through the pages. After a month, Hisoka notices that the dark bags under his eyes have gone darker, deeper, while his pale cheeks are sunken. Not one of the Troupe members bothers him as he reads, no doubt another unspoken rule that Hisoka needs to note.

One of the members focuses his irritated attention to the magician. Tall, blond-haired, wearing grey robes.

"You didn't bring Val with you?" Phinks demands, barking almost.

"No," Hisoka murmurs, lamenting that the others are looking at him now. "She has other interests that she didn't want to abandon." In this dark a place, he could have used her presence, to distract the Spiders and keep their nosy selves off his business. He sighs and grins up at the man, a Joker between his fingers. "I think she so dislikes being cooped up with you guys."

It strikes a nerve. Phinks snarls and draws himself higher, more menacing. "If she's hurt−"

"Of course she's hurt," Hisoka cuts him off.

The atmosphere in the room tenses. Everyone stops what they are doing and focus solely on him. Even the Danchou, seated at the head of the room, shifts ever so slightly. Hisoka smiles to himself. He has the Troupe where he wants them to be−agitated, uncomfortable.

"Valtiel is doing fine," Machi announces, much to his disappointment. She steps into the center so she could meet everyone's eyes. Blue eyes fall to their Danchou, looking up from his book now, blinking. "She's reached the 200th floor of Heaven's Arena. She has regular challengers and she seems to enjoy the thrill of it. Fighting, I mean."

"She's awesome!" Uvogin gushes, large fists curled. "You guys should have seen her last fight! With a countenance of a warrior! If someone dies in this raid, I'm suggesting Valtiel should replace them."

"That's very mean, Uvo," Shalnark scolds. "Don't wish ill to anyone!"

"I'm just saying."

"But why didn't she come here?" Bonolenov stretches across his couch, his hands behind his head. "She knows it's New Year, right? That we have New Year celebrations? She couldn't have wanted to miss it."

"She was a bit wounded during her last fight," Yuan answers, flicking his attention to the Danchou. Chrollo remains impassive, eyes back on his book, the shadow play of candles dancing in his face. Yuan sits between Feitan and Franklin, leans back on the cold wall. "I bet she wanted to rest."

"Too bad," sighs Shalnark. "I have gifts for her."

"That can wait after the mission," Kortopi says. He sits beside Pakunoda, sharing another couch with her.

Finally, the Danchou stands from his seat. His coat sways with the slight breeze.

The members straighten, attention to their leader. In his quiet corner, Hisoka commits the leader's face to memory, licking his lips in anticipation. He listens to the Danchou's orders, the details of their plan to raid some sort of mountain ranges and free the slaves. Hisoka listens to half of it, while half of his attention is back to Heaven's Arena. He wonders if he could get Valtiel to confess her crush on him, and see if it would incite the members into fury−how many and which ones.

That would be much more hilarious than raiding a mountain.

* * *

Valtiel wakes up from the horse's nose nuzzling against her face and hair. Fingers wound tight into the hay as she heaves herself up, still drained but alert.

The barn is dark and quiet, and so is the outside world with the occasional gusts of wind. It is still dark, and by the scent of firecrackers hanging in the breeze, she judges that it could be no more than one or two hours after midnight.

She heads for the barn's door, opened large enough so she could see. The feeling is faint, but any Nen user could pick up someone else's aura from a good distance. These mercenaries are not using Zetsu, not bothered enough to conceal any trace of their presence as they hunt for her.

 _I can't make it through the forest_. Her lips press into a thin, hard line. _Not in this weather._

Grabbing the nearest horse, she heaves herself up on its back and clutches his rough mane between tight fingers. She has to leave now. No need for goodbyes; Ector told her a while ago.

Yet as she rides for the door, there is Ector himself, still holding his axe.

"Better get moving," he tells her in a harried voice. He takes the horse by its muzzle and leads them towards the back of the barn, where the pine forest stretches like a sea of dark green needles. "Follow the trail, then you will find a river. Cross that and continue northwards until you find train tracks. North leads to the mountains. South leads to the nearest city. Go, and quickly!"

"Thank you." Her breath smokes in her face.

"Just go." Ector hits the horse's rump, sending it into a gallop. Snow bursts from where its heavy hooves have been. He stands until the silhouette is gone, before turning back to close the barn.

One of his dogs is snarling ahead. Looking towards the horizon, he could see dark figures emerging from the other side of the forest. With narrowed eyes, he clutches his axe tighter.

* * *

Valtiel struggles to keep herself balanced on the horse. Her entire body still aches, the pounding in her skull resilient. Once or twice she almost slips from the horse from her exhaustion. She fights sleep, unconsciousness, and pain in a frustrating combination. Her dark grey kirtle flaps against her bare thighs, her borrowed cape and worn-out boots of little help against the shuddering cold. Beneath her sleeves, she has the hidden blade. The mourning locket bounces over her chest, the gold piece rolling in its chain.

The horse rears up, and she almost slips from its back if not for another tight hold on its mane. Even in the darkness and snowfall, the steady rush of current beneath thin ice is unmistakable.

She dismounts, sliding, and falls to her knees at the unaccounted weight of her upper body. The coldness seizes her, and she tucks her gloved hands under her arms as she studies the bridge.

It is an old thing. Broken. Decayed by time. One mere look at it and she knows. She cannot take the horse with her. She would hate to leave it out here in the cold. More than that, she is not exactly glowing at the idea of walking another few miles to find the train tracks. Her feet are already frozen inside the worn-out boots. Another surge of breeze whips up her hair.

As she turns for the horse, she stops in her tracks and feels for the wind.

Malice−unconcealed and threatening−seems to swirl with the very air. When the first shadow breaks through the line of trees, she bolts for the bridge. Be damned if she worries for another second.

The decaying wood rattles beneath her feet. Every step sends it into a shudder, splinters bursting from every plank. When she finally manages to cross, she rounds towards the bridge and kicks both sides. It gives away, crumbling, surrendering to many years and sinking into the icy waters.

She pants and idles long enough to see the pursuers jumping over the river itself.

 _Of course._ She rolls her eyes and dashes into the woods. _Why didn't I think of that?_

The first mercenary lands somewhere on her right, just in her line of vision. Again, she twists towards him, aiming for a back kick with what little energy she has left from an entire night of running.

The man receives the brunt of her attack and merely pushes her off, boots sliding across the thick snow. Another one waits behind her, a woman with a red scarf, and pulls out a dagger from her sleeve.

Valtiel notices the blade's glint and forces herself into a stop. Instead, her back comes into contact with the trunk of a pine tree.

Someone from above pounces down on her, his own weapons displayed. A chain whip coils around her left wrist and tugs at her. She grunts and tugs backwards, forcing the man on the other end, her claws meeting his fist. Her hand pierces through where his shoulder meets neck, while his punch digs into her stomach. It sends her reeling across the white field again. Another mercenary is waiting to prey upon her.

It goes on for what feels like a lifetime. She counts ten−no, twenty−mercenaries pushing her back and forth. All of them Nen users, overwhelming her with a barrage of attacks from different categories. Enhancers and Transmuters are the most troublesome, their combined abilities a painful torture. She spits blood when she can, but most of the time, she chokes on blood and snow in her mouth. She defends with what little she could, Ren or Gyo, anything her mind could think of while her body slowly surrenders to the pain.

One of the Enhancers hits too hard, and there she goes, toppling over a cliff. Valtiel reaches for anything to make herself stop falling. Roots. Boulders. Soil underneath the hard snow. Yet she keeps rolling down the steep slope, smashing her head against several objects, which she could not pinpoint any longer. Snow clouds her vision, as well as the fast approach of unconsciousness.

 _Will I die tonight?_ Her shoulder slams onto an overgrown root. Knees scrape across frozen earth. Nails ripped from the desperate attempt to hold onto something.

 _Will they mourn me?_ She thinks of the Phantom Troupe, all together tonight, celebrating the New Year, watching the fireworks somewhere. Her body slips in between two boulders; her chin hits one protruding spike. More blood. More pain. _Will they remember me?_

Her descent comes to an end. For the final time, her body jerks and flies across the riverbank, and then slides across the wide extent of a frozen river.

Palms flat on the freezing surface, she tries to stand, blood dotting over the white-blue of the icy sheet. Every muscle in her body screams in pain and she could do no more than to cough and wheeze as she tries her desperate to get her bearings.

Somewhere above the cliff, her pursuers must be enjoying the show. It makes her wonder if the prince ordered them to do this, in exchange for what happened the last time between them.

 _Will I die tonight?_ Valtiel grits her teeth and glares at her uneven reflection on the ice. Her face contorts, hideous and with patches of purple bruises. She laughs in her face, a throaty sound. Pathetic. Then she takes one look at her eyes and the laughter dies down from her lips.

She blinks. Once, twice. Scarlet Eyes.

 _But how?_

Her first breakthrough with the eyes feels like a lifetime ago, when it is only just over a month. When Chrollo left her alone. When she spent many nights curled up and regretting every decision she made. When she looked at Pairo and cried herself to sleep.

 _T_ _his cannot be right_ , she tells herself now. _No, this isn't real. This cannot be the Scarlet Eyes._ The sight of it is confusing, but she feels better somehow. Invigorated. As if she is not suffering many wounds at the moment.

A snarl from above stops her thoughts.

The mercenaries are sliding down the cliff with calculated descent. One by one. They evade the sharp rocks and roots that Valtiel failed to dodge. Some others are already sneering, bodies glowing with their aura. It assaults her senses, to be subjected by this much malicious aura. Her heart pounds harder, her mind racking with panic and resolve.

 _I won't die tonight_. She forces herself to stand on unsteady legs. She wobbles, her arms limp and bruised at her side. Her kirtle is torn from hem to waist from the fall. One of her boots has its sole ripped.

 _I won't die tonight_. Her aura first comes out as a white steam, steady like a river's flow. It grows and wraps around her like a heating pad. The feel of it is comforting.

Her eyes could only see bright red. Even as the mercenaries reach the riverbank and stalk towards her, her vision darkens into a deeper scarlet. It is harder to breathe with it, but it also gives her a different kind of strength to fight back.

The mercenaries sense her boost in aura and become wary. One of the Manipulators steps forward, no doubt intending to finish the confrontation with one strike. He puts one foot on the ice, testing if it would hold.

It does.

He produces a set of cuffs and chain, also glowing blue with his aura.

Valtiel snarls back like a trapped animal and glares at the chains with disgust. Her aura pulses with her heartbeat, a thick veil of crimson surrounding her. The mercenary blinks and hesitates again.

"This is taking forever," one of the Transmuters mutters. With a snap of his fingers, the whole group joins the Manipulator and crosses the river.

The ice holds firm beneath their combined weights. The more they push onwards, the more Valtiel is tempted to run back, to the other side of the river, try to escape them. As if that has not been done before. She is outnumbered, and the more she runs, the more she ends up bruised. Her legs could barely keep her up, her arms useless. If she could bite her way out of this one, she might have already, lunging teeth first and caring little for everything else.

The group continues its approach, with the Manipulator at the center. It seems his group trusts him the way the Troupe trusts Pakunoda.

 _I will fight even if my heart stops beating._

An Enhancer pounces first, followed by the others behind him.

She steels herself above the ice. _I won't die tonight._

A powerful fist threatens to grasp her by the neck.

 _I. Will. Not._

Valtiel unleashes her aura−bright and crimson−towards the leaping enemies. The surge engulfs them like a tidal wave, and the sphere holds firm, stretching for a few meters but engulfing all mercenaries present.

Sharp pain seizes through her heart. Valtiel coughs and digs her fingers into the skin of her chest, above her heart, where the organ is not beating as it should be. She claws at her chest, another futile attempt to reach for her heart. Her vision spots and it sends her mind into a delirium. _What is this, what is happening, this isn't me, this isn't my Nen, why is this happening, somebody help me, why, Danchou, tell me, why−_

She raises her eyes to the group.

They are still suspended in the air. Some are on the ground still.

 _This cannot be right_ , her mind screams as her body grows accustomed to the un-beating heart _. This is not my ability_. She takes heavy pants, white smoke fanning before her face. Then she catches it−the absence of the same smoke from the mercenaries.

She approaches the lead Enhancer and puts a hand before his nose. No breathing.

Confused, she blinks, one hand clutched still at her chest, the other reaching for his wrist. No pulse.

Her head sways with fear. Her hand reaches for his own chest. No heartbeat.

 _What is this? This isn't my ability. This isn't−_

 _ **It's the Scarlet Eyes.**_

Valtiel flinches at the voice in the back of her head. A grim voice, from an old man, from a distant time and place. She whirls around the crimson sphere of her creation, glowing iridescently beneath the silver moon. Snow dances on the other side of the sphere, entering the chasm, still moving. _Of course, it moves_ , she reminds herself. _It doesn't have a heart._

Her eyebrows furrow. It should have been more than ten seconds. Her ability is restricted for only ten seconds. Slow down movements.

 _This is a different kind_ , she observes. Like a scholar discovering an ancient text, she studies the unfamiliar makings of her own Nen.

 _It's the Scarlet Eyes_. This time, it is her voice in her head. _But why? How?_

The ice starts creaking underneath her. Upon that realization, she dashes wildly for the other side, exiting the crimson sphere when her ability is supposed to keep her inside.

She reaches the stony riverbank, skidding to a halt, and then glares at the sphere and the people she left behind. It must have been at least thirty seconds since the ability activated. She closes her eyes and breathes out. When she opens them again, the sphere dissolves into the evening air. The mercenaries all gasp and gag, clawing at her necks and chest, before falling into the freezing abyss.

None resurfaces. Valtiel collapses where she stands. Her eyes flutter shut.

At least her heart is beating again now.

* * *

When she wakes again, two gruff voices startle her.

One of them takes her under the arm, hoisting her up like a sack of rice.

At once, she turns to face him, not bothering to look at his eyes or study his features, and drives her hidden blade from his neck to back.

A gun clicks and presses behind her head. She closes her eyes, sighs, and falls to her knees. She holds up both hands in surrender as the gun prods over her hair.

"You are a trouble, Valtiel." Gerald scowls behind her, the lines in his face becoming deeper. He presses the gun against her head, her neck, and then her temple, rounding towards the front so he could get one good look at her. "You are bleeding from so many wounds, but I doubt the prince would even mind. He likes you, and what he likes, he always gets."

"I don't care about your prince," she seethes. "I just want to go home."

It tugs another familiar pain in her heart. She wants to go home, to Hisoka and even the Phantom Troupe. To curl under the blankets and rest, knowing that everyone will watch out for her. But they are faraway, and she is here, a rabbit for the hounds.

"You simply don't understand," he returns, voice gentle now. "When you return to Kakin, you will be showered with every respect you deserve. As the prince's mistress. He might even raise your status and make you his wife. You have every possibilities to be queen. Why settle for something less than that?"

"We talk of marriage and queens now?" Her laugh is harsh, a guttural sound deep within the throat.

"We talk of a future no one else could even imagine."

"Might as well forget about that future." She spits blood at his feet and scowls. With the amount of scowls and curses she already spared for one evening, Feitan should be proud. "I won't go anywhere but home."

"Then I will take you there myself." The gun points between her eyes, pressed over the pale skin there.

"Then you will take a corpse with you."

Valtiel activates her ability and surrounds herself with the familiar golden aura. It is smaller compared to her usual range, but enough to surround her and Gerald. She feels the gun on her forehead slacken, still pressed there but barely a threat. Gerald's eyes, a beautiful shade of purple, do not flicker with any semblance of life.

She stands from her kneeling position and takes his gun. The weight of it feels foreign and deadly, the kind she would not take anywhere with her. Her scarlet vision is on his face. For a moment, she feels she could not kill him. Not him, he is only following orders. But so do the others, yet they are already drowning in the icy waters, somewhere downriver. She takes Gerald by the collar of his purple robe and pushes him into the cold.

His body exits the golden sphere. His eyes flicker back with life, but he could not resist the weight of his body plunging into the waters. Valtiel stands at the bank, watching his robe underneath the strong current. She tosses in his gun, plopping behind her.

Her aura dissipates once more, herself exhausted to the bone.

She cannot rest now, not when her enemies are gone and she has miles and miles to go. She gathers to her the sad remains of her kirtle and cape. The ripped sole in her right boot opens wider, the snow dusting over her bare toes. She shivers, she stumbles, she goes back up.

 _I have to go home._

* * *

The mission is a success, if Hisoka has to say so himself− _because_ he has to say so himself.

What fun it had been to see thousands of slaves underneath the mountain, huddled together despite the rage of the snow not reaching them. Imagine their surprise when they realized what was happening!

Hisoka watched behind it all, leaned against the wall while someone−tall, silver hair, blue eyes−went forward to greet his people. And then there was another one−big, burly, lip piercings−who directed everyone out of the other end of the mountain, while Hisoka, Eyebrow Man, and another member−bandages, bandages everywhere−were tasked to guard the front and keep the fighting there.

The point is: Hisoka barely remembered anyone's name but he still managed to enjoy himself. They were mean to him, yes, though that could have been avoided if only Valtiel came with him. He even thought he could tease a reaction from the Danchou if he would see how comfortable Val has grown to him.

So when the mission was over and everyone was done celebrating, Hisoka went straight home.

Now he heaves a deep sigh and puts the large sack down on the couch. He has been carrying that throughout the flight, a collection of gifts that the Spiders thoughtfully amassed for their missing doll.

The new room is cold and dark, as if inhabited for weeks when it has only been four days since he left. He blinks and looks around the room. He senses nothing from Valtiel.

Odd.

He checks the bathroom, kitchen, and feels for the bed. Unslept for at least a few days.

His brows furrow in worry. It is rare for him to worry, especially for other people, but if the Spiders find out, someone−probably big guy, bearskin clothes and his best friend mustache galore−would rip his throat out for losing the Danchou's lapdog. Though that attempt would certainly be entertaining, his mind has no room for fun and games.

 _Where is Val?_

As if on cue, the door opens. He has no concept of locked doors. Anyone willing to challenge him could walk right through that door and be done with it.

So when Valtiel stands on the other side, Hisoka has to blink and look closer.

Her platinum-blonde hair is wild and frozen, from head to the very tips. She wears a ridiculous old-looking dress−more like a kitchen rag, really−and boots worn-out as the term worn-out could get.

But before he starts teasing her about her appearance, he does a double take on everything else: purple bruises, yellowed after a time, scratches all over her arms, shoulder, and legs, dried blood in her hands, a splatter of drier blood circling her jaw and collarbone. The wounds there are deep, old, with the skin almost black around the edges. Whatever happened to her, she must have been through hell.

Despite her gruesome appearance, her voice is soft and weak. Like a child. "Hisoka-san?"

He blinks the surprise away and says, cheerfully, "Nope, I'm Santa Claus."

"No, you're Hisoka-san," she retorts, stubborn yet still weak. "And it's New Year, not Christmas."

"Did you come to ask for a gift? Ho, ho, ho." He feigns a deep tone, copying an old man from children's storybooks, and gestures at his outfit. Red-and-black, lined with white fur at the edges. Definitely Santa Claus. "If you had been a good girl, I'll give you your presents."

"No…" She repeats, weaker still. She takes a step into the room and collapses.

"Oh, my…" The Santa Claus sighs. "Someone is too excited for her presents."

Dropping the pretense, Hisoka crouches next to her body and removes the strands from her face. She is fast asleep, already out cold on the carpet. He clicks his tongue and gently carries her into the bathroom.

Gingerly, he removes her clothes, peeling away the cape and dress with forefinger and thumb, as if handling a dead mouse. The clothes are stiff and frozen, both from the snow and from her blood. He peels the rest and leaves them into a dirty pile on the floor, gauntlet and mourning locket included, and then carries her into the bathtub.

He lets her soak underneath the steaming water, as if unfreezing a fish for dinner. He sits beside her, arms resting on the rim of the porcelain tub, his head angled towards her tired face.

"What ever have you done now, Val? The Spiders will kill me," he murmurs, elated at the thought, as his long fingernails trace the big purple bruise from her jaw to her neck.

Bored from simply watching, Hisoka sheds himself of his own clothes and dips into the water. It swells and pours over the edge, his added weight unaccounted for. He lowers his head in the water and comes up with his bright red hair plastered on his face and neck. Across from him, the young woman barely moves.

"Val, are you still alive?" His amber eyes roam over the length of her body, the pale alabaster skin and the swell of her breasts peeking from the water. He _has_ to check, right? He blinks again. "Valtiel?"

No unconscious person would answer. But is she unconscious or dead?

He has to check.

 _Right?_

Hisoka swims toward her, though the bathtub could barely fit two persons at the same time, let alone someone of Hisoka's height and body build. He is rippling with muscles, all strong arms and legs, broad shoulders. He crosses to her side of the tub and puts an arm around her shoulders.

Her skin is hot from the steaming water, her skin flushed pink. Her head lolls against him, cheek pressed over his hard chest. Is she breathing? He has to know for sure, his gaze trailing over her chest, scrutinizing the rise and fall. It is faint, but it is there. Breathing.

 _Too bad._ He grins to himself. If she stops breathing, he would have proceeded to CPR. That would make a good discussion during the next raid, to see which ones would flare up. Him and Valtiel, naked and sharing a bathtub, the skin-to-skin contact sensual and enticing.

 _Which ones would be furious, I wonder? Eyebrow Man? Dark Emo Kid? Or Danchou?_ He licks his lips, basking at the image of Chrollo Lucilfer's deadly aura. _Will he fight me on the spot if I tell him?_

After a good soak of ten minutes, Hisoka wraps Valtiel in her robes and carries her back to the bed. He tosses as many blankets and pillows as he could, practically building a pillow fort around her, while he sinks on his usual position by the floor. He rests his chin on the bed's edge, peering at her. Despite the many wounds and bruises, she sleeps quite peacefully, her face serene.

He yawns, growing sleepy from the silence and darkness.

Then she stirs in her sleep, moaning softly at the pain. Her eyelashes flutter, golden eyes opening to assess the smiling face inches from her own. "Hisoka-san?"

"Present." He smiles wider, brighter. He scoots closer to the bed and pokes her cheek. "Tired?"

"Exhausted," she agrees, sighing.

"Would you like something to eat?"

"Does it require you leaving the room?"

"Why, yes. We have no food and the phone is broken. I'd have to request something from the lobby."

"Then I'm not hungry."

"Oh?" His eyebrow rises slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." She moans again, tears slipping from closed eyes. It makes him alert. "Don't go."

"Is that an order?" He giggles. "You're so adorable even when you're hurt."

Valtiel's hand appears from her arsenal of pillows and holds it out for him. Out of curiosity, Hisoka takes her hand and lets her hold him like that, as if trying to make damned sure he is going nowhere. He chuckles again, perpetually amused, while the young woman just smiles and drifts back to sleep.

Hisoka hums a cheery tune. He reaches out for his phone on the bedside table and takes a picture of him holding Valtiel's hand, their fingers intertwined. He browses through his list of contacts, picks a certain group, and hits send.

 _23:41 Grim Reaper: Good night everyone!_ _(Open attached file)_

It only takes no more than a few seconds to receive responses.

 _23:41 Eyebrow Man: Oh what the fuck man?! Get your hands off her you sick pervert!_

 _23:41 Bearskin: I'm gonna count to ten and if you still have your hands on her I'm blasting through the Heaven's Arena myself!_

 _23:42 Machi Dear: I will kill you on our next mission. I can make it look like an accident. Believe me._

 _23:43 Hackerman: This is juicy! I'm gonna show Danchou! (b^_^)b_

 _23:43 Eyebrow Man: I'm with Danchou and he looks pissed._

 _23:44 Samurai-Mustache Man: If Danchou kills you, the kid's gonna be our newest number 4._

 _23:45 Skull Kid: You just dug you own grave. Congratulations._

 _23:45 Hackerman: I showed Danchou already. Don't worry! He says he's not mad!_ _(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧_

Hisoka giggles through it all, and then glances again at the sleeping young woman. She is nowhere near waking up, though he does not expect her to. She needs to rest if she hopes of recovering from her injuries. Even as she sleeps, a tear creeps and slips from her cheek. He wipes it away, lost at the sentimentality of it all, and shrugs. He discards his phone, letting it light up and buzz and buzz as the Spiders scold him.

He holds her even as he falls asleep.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! I hope everyone's been having a fantastic start of the new year so far! I especially don't want to miss this special day dedicated to all forms of love on the world! So I bring you Valtiel struggling against some ten or so Nen mercenaries on this special day. Not to mention her very particular breakthrough with her Nen ability, in which I would leave all theories/conclusions/suggestions up to you guys. I'm just glad that Val made it through this nightmare and if safely back home to Hisoka.

That's all for now, folks! I hope you enjoyed this action-packed chapter and I do hope you keep supporting this story. Also, a Pandæmonium side story, **Araneæ Diem** , is out again for a very special Valentine's Day one-shot featuring everyone's favorite short, dark-haired thief. Let me know you think about the two chapters.

Cheers to the weekend! 🌹

P.S. I miss writing Chrollo and Valtiel together. T^T


	33. Chapter XXXIII

**Chapter XXXIII**

* * *

The enemies come in groups. Sometimes in pairs.

For some wretched reason, they keep coming, pouring into the city and surrounding Heaven's Arena even at the dead of the night, despite the harsh snowstorms. Some manage to get past the lobby and murder employees in their wake. Others are unfortunate, when the Grim Reaper himself meets them at the entrance and does away with them with only his cards.

Hisoka has lost count of the people he killed in the past few days.

Eight.

Seventeen.

Thirty-two.

Sixty-nine.

One hundred and seven.

Well, no one ever hears him complain. It keeps him pleasantly occupied while Valtiel spends most of her dark days sleeping, recuperating from the injuries she sustained from a fight Hisoka could not imagine. While she is indisposed, he declines the many challenge offers, but still finds a way at the base of the tower, fight groups under the snow, come back to the room and find her still sleeping.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

He has even lost count of the days.

Tonight, he finishes his nightly duties−as he starts calling them to amuse himself. Another group of twenty-three Nen users, with scorpion tattoos, appeared tonight to have themselves killed. He runs a hand through his hair and saunters across the hallways, hoping to rid himself of the blood and sweat on his skin.

On his way back to the room, he comes across a very familiar face.

"Ah! Illemonade!"

"It's Illumi," the black-haired young man corrects, standing by the elevator.

"Great! That's my _second_ best guess, actually." Hisoka grins.

"What do you want?" Illumi all but sighs, his face another blank mask. He wears a suit ensemble, black with a white inner shirt, the jacket slung over his one shoulder. It looks like as if he is late for a formal dinner, not accounting the smear of blood over his lower left abdomen.

Hisoka stares, at a loss for an answer. Instead, he just says, "D'you want to fight?"

Illumi stares back, blinks once, and then turns to the corner, his black jacket billowing behind him with his hair. He moves without sound, carrying an ethereal grace. It makes the magician wonder if he is as graceful in battle.

"You wouldn't want to fight me," Illumi says at length. "In any case, you shouldn't. I'm busy."

"Oh, okay." Hisoka nods and picks at the dried blood on his shirt. "Ah! How's your brother, by the way?" When Illumi whirls around with a glare, Hisoka smiles innocently. "Asking for a friend."

"Killua has gone back home. I reckon you wouldn't see him anymore." Illumi starts walking away again, and his voice sounds faraway in the dim hallway. "Even if you or your woman comes across him, he wouldn't remember either of you. I erased you from his memories. Any thoughts of that woman making friends with him are futile. Tell her that." And he disappears in the shadows.

"Good talk!" Hisoka calls out behind him, chuckling.

He proceeds to the elevator and presses the button for their floor. When he crosses the threshold of their room, he blinks at the small figure seated at the bed. "Ah, you're awake, Val."

She cocks her head to the side, the moonlight spilling behind the window and throwing her shadow long before her. Her eyes are glassy and bloodshot, a shade of red-gold together, boring through him.

"Good morning," he greets and closes the door behind him. "How are you feeling?"

"How long have I been sleeping?" Her voice is still guttural from disuse over the days.

"Hm." He steals a glance at the calendar on the wall. He had whipped his cards on the numbers, so he could answer this precise question. He beams at her. "For nine days."

"Nine?" She sits up straighter on the bed, weak fingers clutching at the sheets. "What did I miss since then?"

"Me." He cackles when she wrinkles her nose in disapproval.

Inching closer, he still keeps a good distance away from the bed, away from the moonlight where she could see him. He feigns a petulant pout and whines, childish.

"You missed me for nine days, Val. What are you gonna do to pay for that?"

Despite the aching muscles, joints, and everything else, Valtiel shakes her head.

"I did not even realize I made it home in time, before I die," she says with a tired sigh. She looks at him closer, squinting her eyes, and then they widen at his appearance. She snaps like a twig. "Is that blood? What happened to you, Hisoka-san? Are you hurt? Who hurt you?"

"You know what? You're the sweetest."

"Answer me!"

He chuckles and steps into the light. His light blue-and-green jester outfit is smeared all over with fresh blood, carrying with him a sharp iron tang. Blood sticks under his nails, on his biceps, and over the white skin where his top has a slit that exposes his sternum. Even his hair looks a bit dishelleved. At a closer inspection, it might even be the blood of his victims that makes his hair gleam redder under the light.

She gasps, horrified, but the magician just sits on the corner of the bed and runs a long-fingered hand through her tangle of pale blonde locks. "Don't worry," he murmurs. "I'm not hurt."

"What happened?" She reaches out for his bicep, the swell of it hard under her palm. Her thumb brushes across the bloodstain there, still damp and runny. It has only been a few minutes. "…Who?"

"I was out training in the gym," he says and winks, pulling away.

"What kind of session would make you this bloody?"

"It makes a good look on me, wouldn't you agree?" He stands at the foot of the bed, poised and graceful as a dancer. "Suits the so-called Grim Reaper of Heaven's Arena." Then he laughs and points a long claw at her. "You should try this look, too. For the Lady Death. We'll make a good image for the Diabo−"

"Please don't say _that_." She caresses her temple. Two minutes of consciousness and Hisoka is already making her head spin again. She sighs and he answers with another hearty laugh. "So, when I am out cold for nine days, what have I missed, Hisoka-san?"

"Not much." He shrugs and fetches the cards he embedded on the calendar. The last card falls upon a Friday, January 13th. He rounds towards her and whips a card at her face.

She moves her head an inch, the card impales on the window behind. "Hisoka-san…"

"Maybe I will tell you," he teases. "But first, I need to shower. You, too, Val." He points again at her bedraggled appearance, from the flimsy nightdress and bed hair. "You can join me if you want, to conserve water. I care so much for the environment."

"I have no intentions of showering with you."

"Are you sure?" His voice croons, singsongs even. "Does that mean you don't remember that night when we bathed together? In this very bathroom?" His smirk spreads as her eyes widen. "I quite seem to remember that we shared the same tub, and that I had to wash you from all the blood and dirt. You were even in my arms, and you rested your head on my chest and then−"

"You lie," she hisses, indignant. "I remember nothing of the sort."

"Shall I remind you then?" His hands go to the waistband of his pants, ready to pull.

"Gods, no!" She squirms and buries her face with a pillow.

"Okay, then I'll shower first. You, next."

"Yes, yes, yes, yes. Just go!"

"Are you sure you don't want to join me? I'm about to get nakey…"

"Hisoka-san, please. I've seen you a hundred times already…"

"Then let's make tonight a hundred and one−"

"Please, no. Just _go_."

Laughing, Hisoka turns his back on her and shuts the bathroom door behind him.

Valtiel sighs and collapses on the bed. Count on Hisoka for making her exhausted immediately. She shakes her head and smiles. When Hisoka steps out of the bathroom, naked but for the towel across his shoulders, he peers down on the bed and finds her smiling even as she sleeps.

* * *

In her dreams, she was back in the snowy mountains, beset by the strong winds and thick snows. Her body limped across the white field, knee-deep into the snow, her boots slowly ripping from heel to sole. The blood on her dress was already dried and a sad shade of brown, and her hair whipped to and fro as the winds keep gusting. She was hungry, she was cold, she was exhausted.

 _I have to go home._

Somehow, she reached a small village with a train station. She could not remember the exact details, always on the edge of unconsciousness, but a laundrywoman and her child had found her in an alley, fed her a stale bread and some leftover soup, and let her board the train. She repeated the process over three or more villages−she really could not remember−and somehow still ended up in this city, with the indigo skies framing the Heaven's Arena.

When she wakes again, the twilight is deepening on the horizon, a shade of orange fading into purple. The room is cold and quiet, devoid of the magician's presence. Valtiel moans deep in her throat as she moves from the bed, legs carefully swinging to the edge. Bandages cover every inch of her body, with black splinters on both thighs and a thick padding on her shoulder.

Feet flat on the carpet, her muscles scream in protest as she forces herself to stand, one hand on the bed's headboard. An unbidden wince slips from her lips, but she keeps walking, one step after another, hoping to reach the other side of the room at least.

She makes a total of five steps. _Not half bad_ , she thinks.

The door bursts open, catching her and her mind off-guard. Her knees buckle underneath her, but strong hands catch her before she topples. She doesn't need to look up to see who it is. She's already dreading his shit-eating grin that he always wears.

Somehow, she still looks up. Her gold upon his amber. Two shades of the same color, though one is darker, sharper, hiding a certain bloodthirst underneath. The amber gleams at her, as if smiling.

"You shouldn't move too much." Hisoka clicks his tongue as he scoops her off the floor, effortlessly carrying her back to the bed while kicking the door behind him. "The doctor said you broke 47 ribs."

"I didn't know I had that _many_ ," she retorts, sarcastic.

"Well, not exactly 47, but you get my point."

 _Four fractured ribs, two on each side. A cracked right clavicle. Both femurs cracked. Twisted tarsal. Internal hemorrhage in left wrist._

Hisoka remembers the doctor's words, each one of them drilled into his skull. He would not have called for a doctor in the first place, but Valtiel's first night at home was almost a nightmare, her bones soft and mangled under his hands. He did not risk calling for the Arena's doctor; no one outside should know what happened. He did not call anyone from the Phantom Troupe either; they'd kill him before he could even get the chance to lay his hands on precious Chrollo Lucilfer.

Instead, he asked for a faraway specialist, paid him his fee, and killed him before he could leave the tower's territory. No one else should know.

The doctor said it would take half a year for recuperation, though he certainly did not take Nen into account. Hisoka could see now that Nen does have its advantages, not only for battles, but also for healing.

Valtiel's habit of lapsing into Ten and Zetsu when exhausted perks his utmost interest. It somehow fortifies her body from breaking any further, it keeps her aura around her body, strengthening what it could, and maintaining the good condition of whatever else is left. Whoever taught her Nen must be appraised, for sure he was meticulous and perfect in his calculations. His very calculations saved her life.

He fights the urge to lick his lips. Perhaps in a few years he could fight her. Ten years. Maybe even twenty.

"Are you hungry?" He hums and fetches something he left on the table by the door. He holds it up−two boxes of pizza−and beams at her. "Our dinner. I hope you don't mind."

"I'm so hungry I could eat anything."

"Even me?" he asks in an undertone.

"I'm sorry−what?" She blinks, innocent.

"Nothing!" He chirps and sets their dinner on the bed, two boxes of pizza with leftover steak from Hisoka's dinner last night.

They dine on anything there is left in the cupboards, and the magician thoughtfully heats a mushroom soup from a can and calls it _masterpiece_. Then he rummages through the massive fridge and gathers the leftover drinks as well, all manners of half-finished sodas, juice in cans, and sparkling water.

Valtiel laughs despite the meager dinner preparation. She is used to the high-end meats and over-garnished meals from restaurants, but this is far more entertaining. Simple yet endearing. She could get used to this for more months, stuck in this simplicity.

Hisoka orders for something else and answers the room when a server knocks. Valtiel all but squeals, her mouth watering, at the sight of a molten chocolate cake topped with vanilla ice cream inside another shell of chocolate. The magician chuckles from his spot−cross-legged on the other side of the bed−wearing a normal shirt, sweatpants, and pink socks for the cold weather.

The last time she lapsed into a very long silence was with the Danchou. This might be the first time the magician is quiet, taking big bites of his pizza slice.

She sips her water and clears her throat. It still feels dry, constricted. "So, what did I miss, really?"

"Hm." Again with the humming. He rests his chin on his palm, his hair down and falling over his eyes. Without the makeup and jester outfit, he could pass for any handsome young man. He purses his lips, curling it into a thoughtful smile. "They are fans of yours, I think," he says. "Groups, everyone Nen users."

"Did they say what they want?" Her body tingles with pain, the memories of her confrontation with the last group another dark memory in her head.

"No, they just wanted me to stand aside, let them take you or something."

"And you did what?"

"Killed them." Coming from him, it sounds like the easiest answer in the world. No flinch. No flicker of remorse. As if inquiring about the weather. He catches her wide eyes and winks, coquettish. At that her cheeks flush, whether from embarrassment, he could not tell.

"And this has been going on for how long?"

"Nine days." He glances at the chocolate cake, the vanilla slowly melting away. With another smile, he lifts his gaze to her face and murmurs, "Ten days."

Valtiel perks up. How could she have missed it? The very wind outside the tower has changed. A familiar malicious air hangs heavily around the tower, but most of it is directed towards them, their room, to her and Hisoka. Again, her body spasms, muscles and joints exhausted still. She could barely flex her fingers without another wince. She could not walk more than five steps without panting.

But they are already here. Another group of twenty-three Nen users.

She has to do something. She has to stand and fight and−

Hisoka stands, stretching his arms high above his head, his shirt rising and revealing the downward curve of his hips, forming a V-figure. He catches her curious eyes roaming over him, and chuckles.

"What's so funny?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.

"If you're so curious, why not just take my shirt off yourself?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come, come, Val." He clicks his tongue, teasing. "Specialists are not good liars. Transmuters are. Whimsical. Deceitful. And I can see through you better than you do yourself."

He dips a finger in the vanilla and licks, eyes still locked on hers. She frowns at him; he grins back and heads for the door.

"And where are you going?" Her meek voice rises to an octave, demanding yet laced with terror.

"I will scare them away," he says. "Just sit back, Val. Don't excite yourself. You'll break more bones that way. Eat your cake, the vanilla is melting."

For the first time since the Phantom Troupe, Valtiel listens to his order, trying to calm herself with the thought of food, but still worrying over the magician. _He fought Omokage, he is the latest member of the Spiders. He is at the level of Uvo-san and Phink-san. He can take care of himself._ The words repeat over and over inside her head, making another dull pain amidst the sea of fractures and faded bruises.

The magician could not have been gone for more than twenty minutes.

Hisoka saunters back into the room, his blue shirt turned crimson. "Ah, I feel so fresh."

Her eyes immediately rake through his body, searching for wounds. "Are you hurt?"

"Nope. Just something numb in the left arm."

Arms on the hem of his shirt, he tugs upwards, over his head, and chucks the cloth to the bathroom. He removes his pants as well, leaving him with black shorts. He fetches a damp towel and starts wiping away the blood and grime, washing under the orange lamplight where she could see. Smirking, he turns his back on her.

"When did you get that?" She holds out a hand. Dutifully, Hisoka sits on the carpet, back still on her. She lets her fingers brush over his bare shoulders before trailing downwards to the black tattoo of a spider.

"Do you like it?" He stands up before she could prod any longer. "I received it after the last mission."

"It's nice," she murmurs.

"Reminds you of someone?"

"Not really." She shakes her head and turns away from the half-finished food. With her indisposed, it is left to him to clear the boxes and drinks, but the chocolate cake remains on its platter. She does not have the appetite to feast on it, given the circumstances. "What happened to the enemies?"

"Called themselves the Karasu Family. With bird tattoos. Sent by a prince?"

"Oh, yes. I heard that before."

"Will you tell me the story?"

Valtiel shoots him an accusing glance, as he turns their usual bedtime routine to suit his unending curiosity. She shifts on the bed, another moan sticking in her throat, and lies down. The lamplight casts a shadow on her face, and Hisoka takes his place on the carpet, chin resting on the bed's edge.

 _Should I tell him?_ she wonders, though there is a nagging feeling in her heart that she should. He fought these people for days, without knowing why. A story is the least she could do.

In the end, she tells him everything: from the first meeting with the prince, the attacks on Meteor City, Gerald's own group of mercenaries. Talking exhausts her, but she keeps on, pleasing him and satisfying the questions in the magician's mind.

Hisoka hums through it all−more amused. "I understand now. I am surprised you made it through the trouble, Val. You could have died that night."

"I managed," she says. "Nen made it possible. My ability−" She clamps her mouth shut. _It was not my ability. It was not my power that saved me. It was the Scarlet Eyes._

Another voice whispers in her head, repeating the mantra. _**It was the Scarlet Eyes. The Scarlet Eyes.**_

She gulps, terrified. "My ability helped a little."

"Anyone else could have died still from those injuries," he observes.

"I suppose I'm lucky." But she never believes in luck, not in such circumstances.

 _ **Scarlet Eyes grant immense strength**_ , the faraway voice whispers. _**It was the Scarlet Eyes that kept you alive.**_

The voice pounds into her head, drilling the words, drowning out Hisoka's voice. It drowns out other voices, too. Gerald. Uvogin. Machi. Yuan. Even Chrollo. The Danchou's voice sounds small and weak compared to this stubborn voice of an old man.

 _ **This is our way of life. The Scarlet Eyes, Val.**_

He notices her sudden change in demeanor. "Are you okay?"

Valtiel rises on the bed and rests against the headboard, with the magician blinking up at her. "I was thinking that perhaps it is time for me to go," she mumbles.

"Go? Go where?"

"Out. Leave Heaven's Arena."

She expects him to lash out, become offended. Instead, he only nods and runs his fingers through his crimson hair, coming away with blood on his fingers. He smiles at it, then at her.

"Why so soon? It is barely two months. We have a long way to go through the 200th floor. In any case, I doubt you can leave at a moment's notice. Your body still needs healing for at least another month."

"My real objective is to earn money and battle experience. Seeing as I have both now, I think it is time to go. Competing for the purpose of maintaining a constant image here in the tower is very low on my long list of worries."

She nods, as if trying to convince herself. _I have the school, the construction, the children of Meteor City, the overwhelming amount of weapons instead of books._

Heaven's Arena would not even make it to top fifty in her list.

"You're worried about those groups." As he mentioned before, he sees through her. "You think they are troublesome enough that you have to leave? You're that worried about _me_?"

"Don't flatter yourself too much, Hisoka-san. They are my problems, and mine alone. I never should have put you to so many troubles." She averts her eyes from him, wondering what color they might be now.

Does he still see through her? Is he some sort of a clairvoyant? A diviner? _But I have to leave, I have to find out. Scarlet Eyes. Are they real?_

"So you don't want my help, that's fine in itself." He concedes himself with the idea, and rises from the carpet. He stretches his aching limbs and reaches out for the lamp.

The orange glow dies down. Only the moonlight remains, spilling through the frost-covered window.

Hisoka falls back on his own mattress, minus the pillows and blanket. He can endure the cold, but not her.

She sighs and settles under the covers, glad of the many layers and the plethora of pillows around her. At least, in this way, she does not feel alone. She doesn't have to reach out to the other side and not feel someone else's soothing presence. How many times did she wake like that? Reaching out for an arm, or a face, but come back empty-handed. Wake up alone in the bed. How many times? At least now, she could reach over the bed and have Hisoka's hand ready to hold her.

The coldness in the room grows. Uncomfortable. Unbearable.

She reaches over. His hand is there, his thumb trailing lazy circles on her palm.

"How long?" comes his murmur. "How long will you stay?"

"A month." She smooths her cheek on the pillow and peers at him.

His eyes are closed, and his face is handsomely serene. Almost like an angel instead of a Grim Reaper.

She commits his face to memory. It might be another long while until she would see him again.

* * *

The arena could not have been more crowded that it is today. Thousands of spectators−cheering, shouting, booing−are occupying the seats in one of the arenas on the 200th floor.

Valtiel sits among them, at the front-row where she could have the best spot of them all. Her one-month of stay has come to an end−and Hisoka, ever the enthusiastic performer, would not miss the opportunity to send her off with a proper goodbye. In the magician's vocabulary, goodbye means bloodshed. One look at him and his opponent proves it.

Hisoka approaches from the left end of the arena. Girls are shouting for his name, waving banners and tarpaulins that bear his face, name, and epithet. The Grim Reaper. He looks the part as well: resplendent in a black top and pants, with a red heart and diamond over the chest, silver armbands around his wrists and biceps. His hair is pure blood-red, catching the light in the arena.

On the right side is another man, about Hisoka's age, with long spiky blond hair that reaches to the middle of his back. From the large screens, his eyes are a deep orange with cat-like slits. He wears a silver chest armor, polished into a gleam, and dark blue hakama. The screen lists his name: Arezzo.

Whoever he is, Valtiel already feels sorry for him. Hisoka has no intentions of backing down.

"I find myself quite fortunate to sit next to you," a voice sounds from her right.

She turns, blinking at a white-haired young man with warm blue eyes. He wears an orange cape around himself, billowing around him as he sits. "Forgive me," she says, "but I believe I never had the pleasure of knowing your name."

The man laughs softly. "You must excuse me, but my name is Kastro, a fellow fighter like yourself." He offers his hand and smiles into her eyes. His skin is soft, well maintained for a high-ranking fighter. How amusing. He nods in deference to her. "Lady Death."

Her lips press into a thin line. She hopes the people would forget about that. "The Tiger of the South."

She supposes he also looks the part of his epithet. Orange cape. _A tiger, indeed._

Maybe she should follow their steps. _What does Death look like?_

Over the boisterous announcement of the two fighters, Kastro leans to her seat to whisper in her ear. "I believe you are closely acquainted with Hisoka," he starts, just as the match starts below. He keeps one eye on the fighters, now exchanging blows. "I have in mind to ask you some questions."

"Came here to scout potential enemies?" She lets out a spiteful laugh and draws away, gaze back on the arena. Out of habit, she uses Gyo, already anticipating Hisoka's clever use of Bungee Gum.

"He makes an interesting opponent," he says. "Fast, clever, devious." His jaw tightens when Hisoka lands a powerful punch on Arezzo's chin, sending the blond flying backwards with such speed. "I had thought perhaps you could tell me what you think of him."

"What ever do you mean?" She glances at him.

"I only see him as a fighter. You see him in a different light. What kind of person is he, under that mask?"

"He is the same man."

In the arena, Hisoka is toying with his opponent. Arezzo frowns and his hand comes alive with flames, orange with black outlines.

Valtiel focuses harder on her Gyo. _A Transmuter_ , she notes. _Copying the properties of fire. Hisoka-san should not be troubled._

To Kastro, she says, "What man you see in the battlefield is Hisoka himself. He is naturally strong and talented. You would find him a very difficult opponent to confront, sir."

Kastro turns away from the fight and chuckles. "And what about yourself?"

She flicks her eyes at him, then to the fight. Arezzo is flinging black fireballs at Hisoka. "What about me?"

"Are you the same as the fighter in the battlefield, Miss Valtiel? Or are you who they say you are−the unpredictable, merciless Lady Death?" He nods to her blank face, devoid of violent emotions. He cocks his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips. "I suppose you're not. Your Ten says otherwise."

"I don't find fighting as fulfilling as Hisoka-san does."

"But you still fight?"

"For my own reasons."

"Ah. Another casual fighter." Kastro leans back on his chair. "I've met many of your kind. Only here to seek money and some experience, something to do away with their time. Tragic."

In the arena, Hisoka has Arezzo's both hands locked together and on the ground−in a thick wad of Bungee Gum. He saunters over to the blond man, graceful as a cat, and goads him into using his flaming ability again. Arezzo is more than happy to oblige, his flames coming alive in his hands. The Bungee Gum seemingly melts and Arezzo starts to grin, but Hisoka flicks a hand upwards and up goes Arezzo, soaring through the air in a dizzying speed. The audience gasps as Hisoka brings his opponent down again, connected to him with another thread of pink aura.

Arezzo's body makes a massive crater at the center. Hisoka skips downwards, then skids to a halt. As the dust settles, the screen reveals that both of Arezzo's arms have been ripped off from the impact.

Valtiel closes her eyes from the gruesome display and even more gruesome tactic. Have Arezzo glued to the floor. Stick Bungee Gum on his back. Stick other end of gum to the ceiling. The force of the sudden pull ripped off the man's arms, two wads of Bungee Gum pulling him apart.

Beside her, Kastro pales. Perhaps he is thinking twice about fighting the Reaper.

Hisoka is still making a good show of smiling and waving his hands at the audience. For the girls, most like. They are shouting and raging, pushing at each other when the subject of their fantasies glances at their direction. It makes Valtiel frown. What do they see in this maniac? Perhaps his good looks and the well-toned body, the hard muscles of his arms and shoulders. If those are their reasons, then Valtiel does not hold it against them.

He spots her in the crowd, easy to pinpoint in her yellow dress and white hooded cape. He smiles and waves longer at her direction. Timid, she waves back and feels the glare of the other fans. Then he is gesturing for her to join him downstairs, at the arena.

"He's calling you down," Kastro mumbles.

 _What does he want now?_

Growling, Valtiel abandons her seat and finds a narrow staircase that leads to the arena. The audience's cheering grows louder to see them together, the partners who decimated through the 200th floor in a short span of time. Half of the glory she owes to Hisoka, flashy as he is right now.

She reaches him and he pulls her flush against him, one strong arm around her waist.

That is a first. The first time he holds her thus. The sensation of someone holding so close her is painfully familiar, reminding her of black hair and a gentle smile.

Her voice trembles. "Hisoka-san?"

Without words, without so much as a permission, Hisoka leans down and kisses her on the lips.

And the crowd goes _wild_.

* * *

The sunset looms on the horizon, a dark blanket of red-orange above the skies of Heaven's Arena. There are few people coming and going from the train station. Among these few people are the two fighters from the tower, famous in their own way, though now made more famous from the stunt a certain someone pulled during his last match this afternoon.

Hisoka beams as he walks behind her, a good three steps away so as not to incite her anger further. A bright red hand-shaped mark seems permanently slapped to his right cheek, though the stinging sensation of it is already long gone. Despite that, he has no regrets.

How could he have regrets?

Valtiel, on the other hand, takes the most offense. Her face is still burning with both fury and embarrassment. She stomps away like a child throwing a tantrum. She tugs her white hood lower as if that would hide away the shame, hide the blush that incessantly blooms in her cheeks.

It's hard for him not to laugh. "So cute."

Her voice, when she speaks, whips like thunder. "What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing. Just how you seem to avoid me, that's all." He follows at her heels, on their way to the train station, where they would last see each other until who-knows-when. Hisoka is not one for sentimentalities, but he must at least admit that the room would be no longer fun without her.

A train conductor is ushering passengers to the trains, checking their tickets, helping with directions.

Valtiel's shoulders drop. Her extra month intended for recovery has gone well, though her bones and muscles are forever tingling with pain. Her right shoulder has healed, and so does the swelling in her left wrist. Sharp pain still in fractured ribs, and her legs and twisted foot still need more time.

 _Time, again._ She frowns _. More time. We always need more time._

She turns around to the magician. Glare already in place. "Thank you for escorting me all the way here, Hisoka-san. And thank you for your company for the past three months. It has been… bizarre."

"Oh, it was a pleasure, Val. And if I may say−a great _pleasure_." He winks provocatively.

"Forgive me for the troubles I caused."

"It's nothing."

"And for the offense I might have given you."

"None taken."

"And for watching over me when I was indisposed."

"Of course. We're friends, Val."

She forces herself to look up at him. He is silhouetted against the deepening sunset. The glare of his red hair becoming darker. She feels small under his shadow, a meek mouse before a wolf. Yet she draws herself higher, despite the nagging pain in her lower body. _More time. More time to heal._

"May I ask you something?" The words slip from her mouth before she realizes her curiosity gets the better of her. She blanches and almost slaps a hand to her mouth.

"Anything for you," he croons, enjoying the moment.

"Why?" Again, her face flushes, matching the red of the sunset. Still, standing in her pride, she could not bring it to herself to hide away from her shame. She meets his eyes and searches for the lies and tricks so natural for a Transmuter. To her wretched surprise, she finds none. Her lips curl into a sneer, then she remembers instantly how his lips molded into hers for one searing kiss.

Hundreds−no, thousands−of people were watching. The crowd was reeling with both shock and excitement. The girls were speechless in their surprise. Even Kastro, still in his seat, gaped at the scene.

"Why did you do it?"

"Why, indeed?" He asks the question for himself. He taps his chin with an index finger. "Well, for one thing: it is Valentine's Day today. I thought it's appropriate, don't you?"

She rolls her eyes, unconvinced.

He takes it in stride, grinning. "Hm. Well, I suppose it only felt right to do it, since you're leaving so soon. I did say I'm sending you off with a proper goodbye."

"So the match and Arezzo's death are not the goodbyes?" She hears herself say in a bewildered tone.

"Oh, no. I don't really care about him. Another challenger who got himself killed." His amber eyes flit back to her face, and for a moment, they soften. "You will be missed entirely by Heaven's Arena, Lady Death. It is a last good image you can show everyone, to remember you."

"I don't want to be remembered kissing you."

"Was it that bad?" He blinks, sounding hurt.

"N-No!" She is quick to deny, only to mend whatever hurt she did. "I did not mean to say that…"

To talk about this is just as hard and embarrassing as apologizing to Chrollo about what happened between them. Like then, she trembles like a leaf, her mind racking for excuses. Her words stumble and sputter out of her lips. She has nothing else, could think of no other means of escape except escaping herself−like she did before. She ran away from Chrollo instead of looking him in the eyes and accepting what happened.

And now, she touches Hisoka hand in a fleeting hold before turning her back on him and running for her train. Her cape fans out behind her, the yellow skirt of her dress flapping over her thighs.

The conductor admits her inside the train after checking her ticket.

She slumps to her seat, breathing heavily. Taking one last glance at the window, Hisoka smiles softly and waves his hand goodbye.

Despite herself, she smiles and waves back.

Who knows how long they would see each other again?

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Buongiorno! Bonjour! Bonsior! Bon-hello! Welcome back to this story! I hope this story finds you, your family, and friends all safe and healthy from the pandemic that's been going all over the world! It's been a really crazy last one and a half month (I've been in quarantine for the same amount of time-I'm not essential, lmao) so I absolutely have the time to write more stories, watch some new series and rewatch old ones as well.

But of course, I wouldn't forget to update my stories here. We have Valtiel and Hisoka ending their misadventures together in this chapter, with our friendly neighborhood clown/magician/creeper sending Val off with proper goodbye! Of course, he'd do such a thing. They're friends, after all. (Yeah, right, Hisoka)

Many, maaaaanyyy thanks for everyone who keeps reading this story! To the new readers out there, new followers... thank you very much for taking a few minutes from your quarantine time to read this story! To everyone who always leaves reviews, you guys are very much appreciated! Sorry if it takes a while between updates, but I'll try my best! Don't forget to wash your hands, take a shower if need be; wear face masks and gloves; stay home unless it's very urgent (like food, goodness I miss eating out in restaurants, haha!).

Stay safe all! Stay safe from creepy magicians lurking in the alleys. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter! 💛


	34. Chapter XXXIV

**Chapter XXXIV**

* * *

"Is that−?" Warren perks up from the window.

"It is!" Julia bounces in her seat and dashes out of the room. "It is! She's back! She's back! Valtiel's back!"

The citizens of Meteor City come out of their houses and gather round in front of the church. Julia pushes her way through the crowd, her little doll tucked in the crook of her elbow. The elders are blocking her way, one of them sneering down on her, so she gets down on her knees and crawls between their legs. Warren's voice is faraway as he tries to catch up behind her.

When Julia comes up at the crowd's front, she gets a front-row view of Elder Ryence welcoming his granddaughter back.

"It's good to have you here again." Ryence is a small man, his body deteriorated by old age. He reaches his granddaughter's chest and pulls her down for a soft embrace. "We've missed you."

"I have missed everyone, too." Valtiel searches throughout the crowd and nods to the other elders. Other faces are smiling up at her, murmuring their greetings. When her eyes land on Julia, she smiles and kneels on the gravel. "How are you, Julia?"

"Very good!" she chirps, golden curls bouncing.

"And where's Warren?"

"Right here." The dark-haired boy steps from the crowd. His grey eyes are boring through her.

"Who are they?" Elder Koran demands, jutting his chin towards the group of fifteen people Valtiel has brought with her. He clutches his cane tighter, a blade hidden deep within the wood. His voice drips with unmasked venom. "More troubles, eh, Valtiel?"

"I'd like to speak with my grandfather in private," she announces, earning everyone's gaze.

"No," Koran barks at her. "Whatever you have to tell him, you can tell us Elders."

"I said I would speak to my grandfather," she fires back. "Are you my grandfather, Elder Koran?"

Before the older man could answer again, Ryence himself taps his cane. "Enough," he rumbles, shooting a glare at his fellow elder. With the two of them both glaring at Koran, they could really pass as family.

Koran clears his throat, and the tension around the group subsides. "Very well."

Ryence gestures for the young woman to follow him. He leads her inside the church, across the center aisle, and towards a narrow pathway behind the altar. The air here is stale, uncomfortable. It would do well enough for a grandfather-granddaughter conspiring secrets.

He nods for her to start.

"I came back here to fulfill my promise," Valtiel says without preamble. "We had this discussion many months ago−and whether you like it or not, whatever the council or the assembly of Elders decides, I am proceeding to the construction." She glances at the small window by the ceiling. "The group I brought with me are architects and engineers. They have the plans, the blueprints. We're ready."

"You took everything into account, didn't you?" Ryence smirks. "Made all the moves to counter every possible refusals we have. You know half of the Elders do not agree. The other half neutral about it."

"What about you? Are you with me, Grandpa?"

"Of course." His dreary brown eyes water at the nostalgia of remembering his own grandchildren, relatives by blood, not by Chrollo Lucilfer's decision. He reaches out for her hand and she squeezes his own in reassurance. If he would have more years in his already long life, he would gladly be her grandfather.

"I thought so much about this plan for months," she says with a tired sigh. Even her face looks tired, the usual brightness in her eyes and cheeks replaced by a pallor. But she smiles still, always, to everyone who catches her eyes. That is something no amount of exhaustion could take from her.

She smiles at him now, with all the tender affection of a granddaughter. "I met a child someplace, around Julia's age, already professional in fighting and killing. Often I find myself wondering if he had only been a normal boy, he could be enjoying playing outdoors by now."

He nods; Chrollo once mentioned such a thing. _The children are the future_ , the Spider had said. Sure enough, Ryence's granddaughter believes so much in her ideals.

"I am sure everything will fall into place." Wrinkled finger brushes over a pale cheek. "You should get some rest, child. I'll have Meinerth find your friends places to rest. Okay?"

"Thank you, Grandpa."

He stands and wobbles with his cane. At the threshold, he turns and blinks at her. "Oh, that reminds me. Where has Chrollo Lucilfer gone? I expected he'd be with you when you return."

Her already pale cheeks go paler, as if drained by blood. "I have not heard of him for months," she confesses, finding no reason to lie. "We separated before the Christmas celebrations and have not seen each other since. He might be on the other side of the world right now." Knowing how much he travels, he might as well be out of her reach.

Ryence seems delighted about it. "Ah, good riddance," he scoffs. "I have always been wary about that young man. He and his friends. Very troublesome. I am glad you are not in his company anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"He's a real charmer, isn't he, Chrollo?" He lets a little knowing chuckle. "Gets everything he wants, no matter through what means. If he gets tired, he leaves it and goes away. So fickle. I am glad you're away from him now, at least. I don't want him hovering near you and vice versa."

"Yes, Grandpa." She feels like a scolded child, hanging her head down in shame.

"Now, you go back to your room and get as much rest as you can. I'll have the Elders assemble for your convenience, get your school started." With a small smile, he leaves.

Valtiel waits for a few moments, before standing and proceeding to the lodgings she once shared with the Spider leader. Some of their belongings are still here, untouched, collecting dust. Some books and manuscripts, written in foreign languages, sit beside various dictionaries and phrase guides. She breezes through them all, trying to remember that it feels like to be here, in this room, where she watched sunset and slept beside Chrollo.

She puts down a book when she feels someone's presence. "Julia? Come inside."

The young girl beams and scrambles to the bed. Valtiel joins her there and smooths the blonde curls off the child's forehead. "What did I miss while I was gone, Julia?"

"A lot," Julia answers, little legs swinging back and forth. "We're getting better food and clothes."

"That sounds wonderful!" _From the Mafia no doubt._ Valtiel's jaw tightens at that. The Mafia needs their assassins and bodyguards in exchange for meager food and clothes, which the Phantom Troupe could provide in plenty. But they have their own agenda, she knows, and she has her own now.

"Valtiel?" The child blinks at her sudden silence.

"Ah! I remember now. I have a gift for you." She fumbles for the brown satchel she brought with her and holds out a doll−made of porcelain, with curly hair the color of beaten-gold and bright hazel eyes. The doll wears a lace dress, and Valtiel produces more small dresses that comes with the doll. "I got her from an auction in a small city. She has no name, so would you give her one?"

"Yes!" Julia's face brightens and her round cheeks blush a light pink. She takes the ragdoll with yarn for hair and sets it beside the porcelain doll. "This is little Julia." She moves the ragdoll. "And this is little Valtiel!" She makes the porcelain doll bow a little. She laughs and hugs both dolls to her chest. "I love them! Thank you very much, Valtiel!"

"And you're very welcome." Valtiel turns to the door. "What about you, Warren? Hoping for a gift?"

Glowering, the tall boy emerges from the shadows and folds his arms. He learns on the doorframe, grey eyes darting back and forth from Valtiel and Julia. "Where's the Phantom Troupe? Where's Chrollo?"

Julia gasps and bounces on the bed, enlightened at the question. "Oh, yes! Where is he?"

Valtiel grumbles under her breath before answering, "I don't know,"−and that is the truth. She doesn't know. She doesn't have any ideas where he or the Spider members could be. It has been another month since Hisoka and the Heaven's Arena; it had taken her weeks to find the architects and engineers and more weeks to persuade them into coming her. How could she have troubled herself with the Troupe's whereabouts? She has the school so much in her mind that she could come across Phinks and Feitan in a street and not even notice them.

To her chagrin, the children are fonder of the Troupe than anything else.

At least, Warren is. Julia is more concerned with her dolls.

"Would you like to have a gift?" she asks the boy instead.

"I don't think you even have one for me," he says.

"Oh, I do. I wouldn't forget you."

"But where's the Troupe?" he insists. There is no misdirecting him from his question. She would have been glad for his curiosity, but his demanding tone is entirely something else. "Did you know that more attacks followed even after you guys left Meteor City? We had to fight them ourselves. We had to resort to using bombs again. Where were you? And where were the Spiders? They promised to protect the city."

"I don't know." She frowns, her patience wearing thin. His ever-raising tone and constant questions about the Spiders are making her head swirl. But instead of giving in to annoyance, she sighs and waves him away. "I can answer your questions later, Warren. For now, let me rest."

Warren opens his mouth to speak, but then reconsiders. "Come on, Julia. Let's go." He takes her by her small hand and shuts the door loudly behind him.

Valtiel groans into her hands. _I cannot lose my patience, especially when it comes to the Phantom Troupe. They will have questions. I must answer. Patience, Val. And tomorrow, the school can start._

She rises from the bed and looks outside the window, towards the horizon where the construction site for the homes is almost finished. Despite the exhaustion, she has to smile.

In another few months, Meteor City will have a school.

* * *

Come morning, the real work begins.

Valtiel's assembled team of engineers and architects is led by Marsten, a middle-aged man with tawny skin, black hair, and a well-manicured beard. The rest of the group consists middle-aged veterans in their field, though one of the architects is still a student, a college scholar, whom Valtiel happened upon a café while she was on the verge of tears. Ella had approached her, they had talked, and now they are here.

Without formal knowledge of anything about building, Valtiel stands behind the group and listens, one finger on her chin, as Marsten and Ella lay out the blueprints for the school. With Meteor City as big as any country's capital, they decide that the school should stand at the very heart of the city, behind the church, where everyone could have access of the building; young or old, everyone is allowed.

There goes the long process of contacting builders, plumbers, and more subcontractors. Valtiel is at her wit's end from the process, spending long sleepless nights brainstorming with the group, the sixteen of them huddled together inside the church and surrounded by candles. When one of the elder engineers manages to coax a friend, that's another worry gone from Valtiel's mind.

During the days of designing and breaking down the hard, barren earth, Warren hounds Valtiel with questions about the Phantom Troupe: do they have a new member, which one did she last see, where has Chrollo gone, when is he coming back, are any of the Spiders catching up with you? The questions are as ear-piercing as the excavation behind the church, and it takes Valtiel another strained smile as she answers the questions as best as she can−and to his satisfaction.

She endures hours of suffering the elders' glares, Koran mostly. Meinerth's face drops every once in a while, the scar in his face tugging downwards with each frown. Her grandfather spends most of his time chiding his fellow elders. If he is not chiding, then he is locked up in the council chambers, worrying about the increase of Mafia surveillance through the air, through the several helicopters passing by.

Valtiel eyes the helicopters with caution. The Mafia is quick to move, and for sure they are ready to intervene at the first signs of troubles. Yet as the weeks wear on and the excavation turns into pouring the foundation of the building, the Mafia does no more than hover above the city. For that, Valtiel is grateful, unable to imagine a full onslaught of the Mafia with only her and some strange individuals knowing Nen. Besides, she could not afford another confrontation, still slowly recovering from injuries sustained last winter.

She also notices the rise in hostility of the citizens. Whenever she passes a street or comes across a group, she could see the malice in their eyes. She brought outsiders into Meteor City−dozens of them from the engineers to the lowest plumber. Their glares make her feel weak, alone, despite having memories of spending her childhood here. She knows the streets where she played hide-and-seek with the Spiders, where Shalnark scraped his knee, or where Uvogin and Nobunaga used to hoard treasures by themselves. Apart from those memories, she remembers no one else−no other family and friends.

After weeks and weeks of hostility and extreme caution, they die down when someone comes into view.

Valtiel is seated on the church's marble steps with Julia when the citizens gather in a tight circle. She blinks and joins the growing crowd, shouldering past some men. She spots a black car approaching and freezes. It could be the Mafia. Worse, it could be the Kakin prince's forces come again to take her.

She braces herself for a sudden attack, ignoring the nagging pain still in her lower body.

Instead of tattooed Nen users, Franklin emerges from the driver's seat. Shalnark bursts from the other door.

The sudden appearance of the two Spiders comes as a surprise to the citizens and even the elders, but not Elder Koran. He sniffs and waves Shalnark over.

"Looks like you guys are doing well," Shalnark chirps, one hand over his eyes. Beyond the church, the cranes and other heavy equipment are framed against the bright horizon. He lets green eyes roam around the expanse of their city, and then lands to a certain familiar face.

At once, he engulfs her in an embrace and spins her around. "Val! I missed you so much!"

She laughs as he puts her back to the ground. "It's good to see you, Shal-san." She peers over his shoulder to address the gigantic Spider slowly making his approach. "You, too, Franklin-san."

A large, heavy hand drops on her head. Franklin's brown eyes are on her face. "Been a while, Val. Where were you? What kept you so occupied you can't even show up for the holidays?"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe even if I tell you," she says, teasing.

"Try me. I have lots of time to spare."

"We sure do!" Shalnark agrees and laughs. "We dropped by because Elder Koran asked us to intervene, but I quite remember that Danchou supported the idea, right?" From Valtiel, he directs his attention to the sneering old man. "Sorry to disappoint you, but we're not here to intervene."

"Danchou strictly ordered us not to do anything to impede the construction," Franklin says.

"Then what are you here for?" Koran's face darkens. "I thought the Phantom Troupe would think twice about risking the relationship between Meteor City and the Mafia. Turns out, your leader likes pouring oil into the fire. Where is your leader?" he spits, filled with contempt. "Where is Chrollo Lucilfer?"

"Hmm? Oh! He's out there travelling with Yuan," Shalnark says. "He won't be around for a while."

Valtiel nods. Somehow, Shal's piece of information feels also directed to her.

Koran is not yet finished. "I asked you to come here and talk some sense into this girl, not support her!"

"Can't do anything about it now," Franklin warns. "Danchou's orders."

"So! Now that's over!" Shalnark wraps an arm around Valtiel's shoulders and leads her back into the church, past the curious eyes, and towards the lodgings. "Tell me everything we missed! Everyone's in a great fever to know anything. You never call, you never answer messages. Really, Val! Are you avoiding us?"

"Of course not, Shal-san." She shakes her head and sits on the bed. "I was busy."

"With the newest member," Franklin finishes, cross-legged on the floor. "Hisoka, right?" She nods and he sneers, a strange contrast to his soft features. "I don't like him."

"No one ever does," Shalnark pipes.

"He's not that bad," she retorts, finding herself defending the magician from their unkindness towards him. She has been in the magician's company for only a short while, and bizarre and troublesome as he might be, there is no reason to be harsh against him.

She takes in the measure of the two Spiders, sensing their critical gaze on her. _There it is again_ , she reminds herself. _Their eyes studying me, ready to report to Danchou._ It should have been expected−their over-reacting attention−and she takes it in stride, acting nonchalant. She finds another smile to ease their misgivings towards the magician.

While Franklin narrows his eyes, Shalnark just shrugs and laughs it off. "Tell me about the plans for the school," the younger Spider says. "Maybe Franklin and I can be of some help while we're here."

Finally, something she could discuss without the weight of their judgement hanging like an axe behind her neck. She lays out the information for the both of them, repeating Marsten's words and Ella's advices for the school's outlook and design. She talks of the cost and other finances, both of which were promised to her once by Chrollo himself, but no matter: he is faraway and she is here.

Shalnark pores over the many details again. "I am surprised you have enough money for this," he murmurs.

For a moment, she allows herself a little swell of pride. "But of course," she says. "I fought in Heaven's Arena for some months, remember. I managed to get past and stay on the 200th floor, before withdrawing. There is no more prize money offered on the 200s, only fame and glory. Not of help for building a school."

"If you had wanted the money, you could have asked us," Franklin says. "We could have robbed a bank, stole some precious metals and auctioned them off, treasures to trade."

"The usual Phantom Troupe way?"

"The usual Phantom Troupe way." He grins.

"Well, you have more than 400 million Jenny for the construction, but that's not enough for its maintenance." Shalnark purses his lips as he studies the prints and layouts presented to him. Seated on the floor and surrounded by papers, he looks no more than a student studying for an exam.

Valtiel curls up beside him, embracing her knees. "I know it's not enough," she sighs. "That's why I am planning to leave Meteor City again, so I could gather more funds that I need. I cannot go back to Heaven's Arena, but I am sure I can find another means to provide."

Shalnark barely glances at her, not at all invested in her idea. "Well, I still think we should do it the Phantom Troupe style. It's faster, easier, and tons more fun than finding a real job."

"But−"

"It's decided, then!" Shal jumps amidst the clutter of papers. "We'll find someplace to steal and get some more money. As Franklin said, a bank is more preferred. I will have to do some research before we get started." He takes out his phone and laptop, and sets to work on the bed.

Defeated by his enthusiasm, Valtiel turns to the other for help.

But Franklin just grins, enjoying the triumph. "Looks like you're stealing with us, Val."

* * *

The last time she helped them steal something was the diamonds in an underground vault.

It takes Shalnark many tries to persuade her to come, promising with a hand over his chest and a pinky swear that no one gets killed. How could it be so? The plan is simple.

Infiltrate a war criminal's home, find out the codes of his well-guarded fortune that no other hacking software could get, transfer the money to Shal's account, and be on their merry way with 1.6 billion to withdraw later.

See? No blood to spill.

That is how he convinces her, throwing a hooded coat over her head to ward off the chill. It is still late in March, and the weather can be unpredictable as always. Franklin drives to the billionaire's manor in a distant countryside while Shalnark repeats the plan to his teammates.

Valtiel presses her forehead against the cold window. It has just rained; the pavement still dark from the water. Droplets gleam over the trees and leaves. Their black car blends well in the shadows, rounding towards the back of the great dark mansion, almost like a horror house. If everything goes well tonight, she does not have to lift a finger. Shalnark would do all the stealing, while she and Franklin stand as guards.

With his bulk, even Franklin can do the guarding alone.

The mansion is massive, with two layers of thick walls and battlements, befitting a war criminal who survived two wars in a row. Turrets are everywhere, with sleek cannons protruding from small holes. Iron wires laced with electricity sizzle over the battlements, security cameras jut in every direction, and the gates are made of the finest steel doors.

Nothing the Phantom Troupe cannot handle.

They vault over the battlements, as easily as skipping ropes. Valtiel has to be careful in her landing, taking immense care in landing on her toes and absorbing the impact with her muscles, not bone. She tugs her hood lower as she darts with the other Spiders, heading for the nearest window.

Franklin smashes an elbow to glass and steel, shrugging at the clattering noise.

Shalnark grins and gestures for Valtiel. _After you._

Inside, the place is darker, every inch of a rich man's house. Velvet draperies. Gilded paintings. Armors and ancient weapons in glass casings. Crystallized chandeliers. The faint scent of money lingering in the air. Valtiel takes a sniff. She doesn't smell money. When she tells Franklin, the big Spider laughs good-naturedly and pats her head. "It's just a metaphor, Val," he says.

 _Oh._

"His name is Romain Carver, war veteran-slash-criminal, wanted in three countries but somehow he gets away with it," Shalnark explains, like a tour guide in a preserved tourist spot. He wounds around the place as if he owns it, as if he has a map in his hands when all he has are his phone and antennae. "Some thirty years ago, he received this piece of land from the people he worked for. Then the investments came." He points to a grand oil painting at the staircase and smiles over his shoulder. "Pretty neat, huh?"

"Not really." Valtiel wrinkles her nose at Romain's painting. He looks more like a king with his velvet-padded shoulders than any sort of criminal.

"Aha." Franklin sniggers. "Quite a rebel, Val."

"We should go here." Shal leads the way again, towards the highest floor.

According to his research, Romain had lived alone for the past thirty years, sustaining himself with heaps of deliveries. It shows in his house, poorly maintained, with thick cobwebs and dust everywhere. No wife. No children. No bodyguards. Yet as they keep ascending the steep stairs, Valtiel and Franklin notice the dried brown stains on the carpet. Valtiel tugs at her cloak again, having suffered enough injuries to know what those stains might be.

The three of them stop in front of Romain's bedchamber. With a quick chop on the latch, they proceed to the presence chamber, furnished with heavy curtains and more paintings. On the other side of the door lies the bedroom and their target.

Quietly, Shalnark finds Romain's personal laptop and starts tinkering with it, setting to hacking the bank account, while he directs his two accomplices to stand guard: Franklin by the bedroom, Valtiel by the entrance doors.

Valtiel looks out the window and watches the play of the tree branches swaying with the wind. The shadows are sharp and distorted over the dusty carpet. She watches, fascinated−until her ears perk up.

Her head whips towards the staircase from where they came. It is a few good yards away, dark as the night, with only a thin sliver of moonlight illuminating the other side of the wall. The presence is still faraway, but she can feel it deep within her bones, a threat waiting to be unmasked.

Something is coming.

Again, she turns for Franklin's help. She pleads with her eyes, trying to get her message across the wide expanse of the presence chamber, but Franklin merely smiles and shakes his head. Somehow, she knows what that means. _You're guarding the front. You handle it._

She curses under her breath and takes her stance. Her claws are ready for use if need be. When the presence stalks closer and closer, its shadow framed near the staircase, her blood drains from her face. She has fought mercenaries and Nen users before, but not quite this. _What is exactly is this?_

Five. Twelve. More than a dozen black hounds line up over the staircase. They are weaving to and fro in the shadows, like wisps of black smoke. Noiseless. Observant. They have green eyes, bright and menacing in the darkness. They stare at the young woman across the hallway in a heated, nervous showdown. On their haunches, snouts curled, they are ready to pounce.

Valtiel curses her bad luck tonight. When Shalnark said Romain lived alone, he meant to say _humans_. If only she had asked more questions, perhaps she won't worry about hounds now.

Still on his laptop, Shalnark grins, hits the Send button, and jumps to the air. "We got it!"

And the hounds start pounding towards the room.

 _Oh, great._ Valtiel braces herself for the impact. More than a dozen hounds means more than a thousand pounds of muscles, bones, and sharp claws and canines. Without the physical strength, she would surely topple. No other choice but to use Nen, her golden aura surrounding her in waves.

 _Ten seconds. I need only ten seconds to dispatch them._

Her aura is ready to release when Franklin materializes beside her, holds out both hands, and starts gunning down the animals in a slaughter of gunshots, blood, and animalistic whines.

"There." Franklin flexes his hands. He really couldn't get the Danchou's treasure so much as scratched. Let alone hurt. "Done."

"I had it," she says, straightening herself. "And we were supposed to be quiet."

"No need for that. Shal has the money wired now. We can go."

"That's right!" Shalnark cradles his laptop and shows his phone screen to both of them.

All 1.6 billion Jenny for them to take. More than enough to finance the entire construction and maintenance of the school. There will still be more for the homes and food. The Phantom Troupe way is indeed easier, faster−but certainly not fun.

The bedroom door opens, where Romain Carver limps on his bejeweled cane and points out a golden gun at them three. Instead of the kingly appearance from the painting, Romain is nothing but an old man, seventy years old, way past his criminal prime. And not enough threat for the Spiders.

Shalnark snatches a letter opener from one of the drawers and flings it to Romain, embedding it deep into his neck.

Valtiel has not seen him kill anyone before, so this comes as a wild surprise.

"Let's go!" Shalnark beams at her. "No use staying in this place. It's too depressing and old."

"You said we're not spilling any blood," she mumbles under her breath. She sidesteps Franklin's mess, the black mangled bodies of the hounds and the dark blood seeping into the carpet.

"The dogs were an exception," says Franklin in his defense.

"And Romain pointed a gun at us," adds Shalnark. "Safety first, you know."

"Let me guess? It's the Phantom Troupe way?"

"Yup!" Shalnark wraps an arm around her shoulder and grins. "You're one step closer to becoming a Troupe member, Val! Keep it up!"

* * *

The cycle starts again.

Planning. Building. Financing. At least this time, instead of her group of engineers and architects, Valtiel has Shalnark and Franklin to share the burden. Once the citizens realize that no more harm could come to them from these outsiders, now that two Spiders have come to supervise the project, they stop leering at Valtiel and start gathering near the construction site to admire the school's steady rising.

With Shal and Franklin around, Warren has found new ones to pester, asking difficult questions that demand more difficult answers.

Valtiel is glad that he is out there, leaving her in peace with Julia and some of the other young children. She regales them of stories, much as she did to Hisoka, and shows them as many books as she could. She bought them from small bookstores, acquired them from an online auction, and so forth. Fairytales. Children's poems. Legends and myths. Only few are enthusiastic, but in good time, she knows they would learn.

She plans games for them, something to keep their interest and keep their attention away from the growing amount of weapons with each passing week. She sets them out to play treasure hunts, sack races, and even ends up playing tag with them while the Elders keep accepting the weapon offers in the background. Sometimes Shalnark joins the games, adding a more modern approach with his gadgets. Franklin sits back on the church's steps and watches, noting anyone who looks displeased. Mostly, he only spots Koran and his perpetual sneer.

One rainy night in April, everyone is tucked into their beds. Valtiel organizes the books she intends to leave behind for the children. Some are her own books, bought from various stores. Others belong to Chrollo, from his extensive stack of untouched books in the room's corner. He has a wide taste, and so she picks the simplest ones−some fairytale stories−and leaves them in the church's meager library.

She heads back to the candle-lighted room to find Shalnark inspecting a manuscript. "Can I help you?"

He waves to the books and the bag on the floor. "Leaving again?"

"I cannot stay in one place for too long," she says, passing by him and busying herself with her books and clothes. She senses his confusion, and sighs and faces him again. "Really, Shal-san, I am weary."

"Why?" He pats the space on the bed. "What's wrong, Val?"

"It's the prince," she confesses in a tired voice. She sits beside him and feels the comforting weight on her left. "His forces tracked me down to Heaven's Arena and tried attacking for a few nights." She realizes then that she has to choose her words carefully, knowing that Shalnark and Franklin, who is hiding in the shadows outside the room, are noting every words and would report back to Danchou. "It's not as troublesome as the attacks before. Hisoka-san dispatched most of them."

She supposes complimenting the magician before the Spiders would lessen the suspicions. Judging from Shal's blank green stare, he is not convinced at the least.

Shalnark weighs the situation and says, "So why leave on your own? If you're in such a trouble with the prince's forces, shouldn't you be thinking of staying with the Troupe? For your protection? Hisoka is one man, but if you're with us, you will be safer."

Of course, he wouldn't understand. The Phantom Troupe means the world to him. Valtiel takes his hands and gives him a soft, reassuring squeeze. "Yes, I am safer with the Troupe around, but there's something I really want to do on my own."

 _And I can't do it with everyone watching my every step._

He seems to be lost, trying to see the advantage in that, but comes short and shakes his head. "You don't have to be with the entire Troupe," he says. "Just one or two of us. You can even take your pick. I am sure Danchou wouldn't mind if someone tags along with you."

At that name, her body deflates and she takes her hands from his.

"I know it's not my place," he starts, glancing at her bland face, "but I noticed how you and Danchou have grown apart since the last mission. I'm not trying to pry, but maybe you two should talk about it. Work it out. I'm not used to have you two apart since your accident."

He tries to laugh his cheerful laugh, but it sounds forced and weak. It doesn't work, and even he sighs in defeat. The candles throw shadows across his youthful face. "Danchou's been in a melancholy lately. He doesn't really talk to anyone but Paku. So try and talk to him, even if he's stubborn."

She could roll her eyes at the amount of Chrollo's stubbornness. She softens her voice, to make him understand better. "Shal-san, sometimes these things take time. No need to force things when it is not their time. For sure, Danchou and I can talk perhaps… after a while… When we're both ready…"

The little frown denotes he is still unconvinced, but he tries not to argue with her. He sighs and nods. "Alright, I think I get it. You and Danchou do it your own way." Then he breaks into another big grin. "But promise me you'll start talking again, okay? I can't stand it when you two are ignoring each other−like high school sweethearts with problems!"

"It's not like that!" She flushes at his terrible analogy.

"Just kidding!" He beams and pats her hand. "But hold on to your promise, okay?"

"Alright." She hides a smile and pretends rolling her eyes. He laughs again. "I promise."

"Swear it!" He holds out his pinky. "Pinky swear it!"

"Shal-san, we're almost in our twenties. Pinky swears are not−"

"Swear it, Val!"

"Okay, alright."

After that, the bubbly Spider leaves her alone so she could pack her things. He meets Franklin out in the dark hallway, shares a knowing grin at him, and whisks him back to the church's aisle where they could give the her the respite she deserves, having suffered their critical gazes for days.

Valtiel sighs, stressed at Shalnark's questioning, and continues packing what little is left of her things. She has but a few clothes, fewer food, but has a great abundance of books. She stuffs unfinished manuscripts in her bag and leaves the finished ones, joining the ever-growing stack of Chrollo's unread books at the room's corner. Her mind wonders if he would read them, perhaps when he comes back and finds new texts to read. She almost smiles at the idea, to leave something for him even if they are countries apart.

Halfway through finishing, another presence makes itself known at the door.

"Yes, Warren?" She turns to him, half expecting another barrage of Troupe-related questions.

"You're leaving?" There goes his demanding tone again, as if a fifteen-year-old boy could command her to stay or do anything he wants her to. "But you've only been here for weeks!"

"And I have to leave again, lest I want those mercenaries to attack the city _again_."

"Why can't you just stay here?" he demands. "Shalnark and Franklin can take them."

"That would be asking for too much," she says. "I cannot ask the Spiders to keep fighting my fights. And for sure, I am not strong enough to handle those mercenaries on my own. I can confront them once I am strong enough, and even that takes another long time." She pipes down at his sudden quietness, and cocks her head to the side. "So, tell me, Warren. Why do you want me to stay?"

The boy clamps his mouth shut and lowers his head. Still a boy, but already taller than her. "I just thought, for once, we're doing something good here," he whispers under his breath.

She blinks. "Meaning?"

"The school!" Warren's grey eyes flash at her. "It's the first time in my life that we're actually doing something good for the city. I mean, the other children are already looking forward to it. So why d'you have to leave? Can't you stay longer and wait until the school is done?"

"Oh, Warren." She crosses the room and puts a hand on his shoulder. "I told you, I can't stay. Troubles are always brewing for me and I can't seem to think of any others means but to escape. I don't want to rely on the Troupe on everything. You understand that, right?"

"Yes," he mumbles, nodding.

"That's why I have to leave," she reiterates. "To avoid more troubles for Meteor City."

"You're such a troublemaker, aren't you?" he grumbles. "And we always have to clean up your mess."

"I am sorry for that," she says, and she means it. She studies his thin face and the gauntness of his cheeks, his cheekbones hollowed out. She brushes her thumb over his skin and thinks of something to cheer him up again. "I have a gift for you."

Warren raises an eyebrow. "For me?"

Laughing, she pats the bed as she fusses with her bag. Then she joins him and holds out two familiar things for him to inspect. "These are special-made gauntlets with a hidden blade inside," she explains and tugs at the metal lock, the sharp blade flashing. "It's poisonous, so you have to be very careful when handling it."

The boy looks mesmerized. "Where'd you get this?"

Her smile tugs downwards, and she says, "Danchou gave it to me, but it's yours now." She fastens one gauntlet on his wrist and proceeds guiding him how to use it properly. "Keep the metal ring on your finger and be careful whenever you move. The blade retracts at the slightest movement. You try."

"Like this?" Warren flicks his finger and the blade follows, slicing through the air. "Awesome."

"So when troubles come, I can count on you to protect everyone," Valtiel says, smoothing down the coarse black hair over his ears. "You now have the means to protect yourself and your friends. So can you promise me you'll do your best, and make no real harm to anyone innocent?"

"I promise," the boy says. "It's mine now?"

"Of course."

"Won't Chrollo get mad?"

"Oh! He's not here to complain, is he?" She smiles, but not enough. Never enough when Chrollo is the subject.

At least Warren does not notice, immensely occupied in his gift. "Thank you," he says. For once, the usual dark look in his face is replaced by the sunny disposition that a young boy should have. "I'll keep it in good shape. Promise! And when you get back, you'll see how much I've improved."

Again, she smooths his hair down. "I look forward to that, Warren."

"When are you leaving anyway?"

"Tomorrow morning."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Happy Mother's Day to all the awesome moms out there! 💛 I tried to break away from too much gaming so I could upload just in time for today. Haha! But of course, I want to greet Chrollo a Happy Mother's Day for being such a good mom to his Spider kids (though it reminds me that Shal is actually dead already, T_T).

* **Ryoma97** \- Aww, thank you! Yeah I bet Hisoka really enjoyed that kiss and is still giggling in the shower like a little boy when he remembers it. LOL. Hope you enjoyed this update!

* **xenocanaan** \- Thank you very much! Keep safe, too!

* **Guest** \- Yay! Thank you! uwu

* **klazvia** \- Thank you for the support! Hope you're also doing well, my friend!

Stay safe, guys! I'm hoping everyone's well and healthy, and that this little story could lift your spirits up amidst this worldwide pandemic. Cheers, friends!


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